the days were bright red
by ashlearose13
Summary: They were Strike Team Delta long before S.H.I.E.L.D stepped in. Natasha and Clint, and how they became two of the world's most deadly assassins. Completely AU.
1. Chapter One

this work will follow our fave assassins from childhood to SHIELD, completely AU. warnings will be updated with the fic as it progresses. (this fic can also be found on ao3)

(and yes this is the third time i've tried writing this fic leave me alone)

hope you enjoy x

* * *

**Iowa, 1999**

**August**

If there was one thing the circus had taught Clint, it was that not everything was what it seemed.

He didn't remember much about his life under the big top. Shooting arrows was more muscle memory than anything, and he was only good because he had kept practising. Now that they had a house, things were easier. His mum liked the yard with the clothesline. Clint went to school and his brother Barney had a part-time job and their dad came and went as he pleased, not that Clint cared.

It was as close to normal as ex-carnies could get. Clint didn't remember the accident that had caused his hearing loss, but it had been bad enough for the circus to just throw them out and disappear. They didn't want trouble, and his dad had done _something _to cause a lot of trouble. Clint didn't like to think about it much. That part of his life was in the past, even if he sometimes found himself missing the smell of sawdust beneath the Big Top.

But the circus had been good for one thing, at least. He had learnt to see things differently, to assume nothing until he had all the answers. Sometimes something came along that was exactly what Clint would expect, but mostly, there was always something else, an edge to things that most people missed.

Which is why, when Clint came home from school to find a small girl climbing out of the kitchen window, he didn't immediately call for help or chase her down. Instead, he watched her drop to the ground and pull from her pocket a single chocolate chip cookie. It was only as she was raising it to her mouth that she spotted him.

"Uh, hi," Clint said. "Are you new here?"

The girl was frozen, green eyes wide and body tense. Clint thought she might take off at any second, but she was pretty small so he would probably be able to catch her. He took a step forward and watched as her hands curled into fists, the cookie still clutched in one tightly.

"Who are you?" he asked, frowning now.

The girl seemed to be weighing her options. She was thinner than Clint too, but he couldn't really tell how old she would be. Her knees were freshly scraped.

"Who are you?" she finally echoed to him. Her voice was husky, like there was something caught in her throat, and her accent was thick and unfamiliar.

Clint couldn't help but smirk at her. "I asked you first."

She paused again, though Clint could tell that she was getting a little annoyed. A small crease appeared on her brow as she scowled at him. "Natalia" she muttered eventually, and stood a little straighter. The cookie was mere crumbs now, and she unclenched her fist to let the pieces fall onto the gravel road.

"I'm Clint. I'm ten" Clint said. "What're you, like six?"

"Nine" Natalia snapped, though she looked disappointed. Clint couldn't tell if it was about the cookie or being younger than him. "What you do here?"

"I live here" Clint said. "So that was definitely my cookie."

Natalia narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. "Is on ground if you want."

Clint's smirk turned into a full-blown grin. There was something about this girl that he really liked. He could almost forget that she had been climbing out of his house moments earlier. "I can just get my own. Cause I live here. Where are you from?"

"Russia" Natalia said automatically.

"No, like, do you live here now or something?"

"Down road," Natalia said. She pointed behind her, down the gravel road to where Clint could see the only other house in this area. The gravel road was long, surrounded by paddocks and a small expanse of forest that Clint liked to practise his archery in. No one liked to live this far away from town, and the houses were pretty rundown. It was why Clint's family had been moved there. No one was around if they caused more trouble.

"Oh," Clint said. "That makes us neighbours."

Natalia didn't say anything. She kind of looked like she wanted to leave again, so Clint hitched his backup higher on his shoulder and moved towards her again. "You gonna go to school here?

"_Da_. Yes" Natalia said. "Is good?"

"S'alright" Clint shrugged. "You got any brothers or sisters?"

Natalia shook her head. "Is just me and uncle." Then she looked down, biting her lip as though she wasn't supposed to say anything.

Clint wasn't great at reading social cues. In the circus, the only kids had been him and Barney, and even then, Barney didn't always like to hang out with Clint. At school the kids thought he was weird because of the bulky hearing aids he had to wear, so Clint didn't have many friends. Or any, really.

"What about your mum and dad?" he said.

"They are dead," Natalia said, meeting his gaze.

"That sucks" Clint said. "Hey, why'd you steal a cookie anyway?"

Natalia seemed to be debating on whether or not she would tell him the truth. She folded her arms across her chest, making herself look smaller. Then she simply shrugged and said, "hungry."

He knew what it was like to be hungry. He started off towards the house, hoping Natalia would either follow or at least wait for him. He fished the key out from under the mat and let himself in. He couldn't hear anyone else, but that didn't mean no one was home. He dumped his backpack by the door, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed as many cookies out of the jar that he could carry, before making his way back outside.

Natalia was still there. He was a little surprised to see her waiting at the bottom of the steps. The sun cast her shadow out over the road, long and dark. Her hair looked like fire in the light.

Clint held the cookies out to her. She stared at them for a long time, just blinking, as though she couldn't really believe what she was seeing. Then, she reached out and took one hesitantly. She held herself tightly, as though she was expecting to be hit. Clint could recognise that look, too. It made him feel bad.

"_Spasibo_" Natalia said softly, and nibbled on the edge of her cookie.

Clint didn't know what that meant, but could assume it was probably a thank you. He shrugged one shoulder and sat himself down on the bottom step so he could lay the cookies in his lap. He was hungry after school, and should probably be doing his homework instead of talking with some strange girl.

They ate in silence for a while, Natalia taking small bites while Clint shoved the cookies in whole. They were homemade, which meant his mum was in a good mood, which meant his dad was in a good mood. Clint hadn't seen his dad for a couple of days, but Edith always baked when he came back.

"Why you nice to me?" Natalia said eventually. She had finished her cookie and was sneaking glances at the last one on Clint's lap. "You not tell your mum I was in house."

Clint didn't want to tell her that he actually didn't know his mum was home. "I don't know, it's not like you were stealing our TV or something bad. Plus you seem pretty cool."

"Cool," Natalia said, testing the word out.

"So, what're doing here? In America, I mean?"

"Training" Natalia said casually, then slapped her hand over her mouth as though she could force the words back in. Clint frowned, watching the way her eyes widened and her fingertips went white from the pressure she was applying to her mouth. He didn't get it.

"Like for a sport?" he asked. He kicked the heel of his sneaker into the dirt and started to dig a hole.

"_Nyet_. No. Is – I am not –" Natalia stuttered. She moved her hand away and clenched it into a fist.

"Doesn't matter" Clint said easily. Even if he couldn't socialise well with most kids his age, he could recognise when someone was scared. He held the cookie out to her. "I should probably do my homework."

Natalia seemed to sag in on herself. She took the cookie from him and stood up slowly. Clint brushed off the back of his shorts and they stood awkwardly for a moment, neither sure of how to proceed.

"Guess I'll see you at school," Clint said. "I can show you around! Only if you want."

"That be nice," Natalia said, then firmer, "that _would_ be nice."

She spat onto her palm and held her hand out to Clint. He stared at it, sure that he was missing some vital piece of information. Had she said something he hadn't heard? He glanced at her face but her eyes were steely.

"Is for friends," she said. "And for deal. We see each other at school."

Clint couldn't help but smile. He kind of wanted to be friends with the weird Russian girl he had only just met. She was different to most kids and even though she had broken into his house, Clint didn't think she was really bad or anything. Besides, he wasn't about to judge her when he didn't even really know her.

He spat into his own hand and they shook, Natalia almost smiling. Then he wiped his hand down his shirt and sighed. "I actually do have to do homework, else I'll get in trouble."

"Okay" Natalia said. "See you."

"Bye," Clint said. He bounded up the steps and stopped before he went inside, watching Natalia walk down the dirt road towards her house. She didn't look back, but Clint could see her eating the cookie.

He stayed by the door, watching her long after he couldn't see her, trying to figure out what he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter Two

The next day, Clint found himself looking for Natalia's fiery hair amongst the crowd of kids that were rushing through the school gates. He hadn't seen her on the road that morning, but also didn't know if she had to walk to school like he did. He had even arrived early, hoping to keep his promise and show her around before the bell rang.

He felt a little disappointed when he didn't see her, waiting until the very last minute until he was sure she wasn't coming. He shuffled into class behind the last of the latecomers and sat at his desk in a huff. A few of the boys at the front of the class made an 'L' shape and held it up to their foreheads, laughing in his direction. It was shaping up to be a pretty normal day, and it sucked.

Clint struggled through his classes until lunch. Sometimes it was hard for him to understand what the teachers were saying, but he never asked for extra help in case the other kids made fun of him. Even when he didn't ask for help, they still made fun of him, but it was easier to not give them something to use against him.

Edith had packed his lunch, a ham sandwich, apple and cookie. He took it with him to the playground and walked as far as he was allowed away from the equipment, sitting down underneath a walnut tree. He was moody and felt a little sad that he hadn't seen Natalia.

They had made a deal. He took that very seriously.

He scrubbed at his eyes because it was just _unfair_ and he hated school and he thought he almost had a real, new friend. He shouldn't have trusted her. The circus had taught him that things weren't as they seemed but it also taught him to watch his back. She probably was just a thief and she had tricked him, he was _so stupid_ –

Natalia sat down softly beside him. Clint blinked at her. He didn't know where she had come from, because he had been watching the playground in case she was playing with other kids. He hadn't even heard her, which wasn't too unusual, but _still_.

"Hi," she said.

"Where were you?" Clint blurted before he could stop himself. "I was gonna show you around and you didn't even come in the morning."

Natalia frowned. "_Izvinite_. We had form –" She made a gesture like writing with a pen, then shook her head. "Uncle Ivan need to fill with information. Of me."

Clint picked up a rock and threw it, still feeling a little annoyed. "Whatever. You could've told me cause then I was almost late."

"I not know where class is," Natalia snapped. "How I find you when I not know where I am?"

"I guess" Clint muttered, but he was already feeling a little bit better. "So, what do ya think?"

"Is okay," Natalia said. "Loud."

"Huh, guess I never noticed" he replied. He automatically reached up and checked his hearing aids were actually on, even though they had to be if he could hear Natalia. Despite wearing them for almost four years, Clint still wasn't fully used to them.

"What is that?" Natalia asked, tapping her own ear.

"Oh," Clint said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. What if Natalia didn't want to be his friend anymore once she knew about his disability? "It's a hearing aid. To help me. Hear."

"How?" Natalia said.

"There's like, a microphone or something that makes the sound louder, and –"

"No," Natalia interrupted, a crease appearing between her brows. "How did it happen?"

Clint unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, trying to stall for time. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Natalia, it was just that he didn't really tell anyone, not even the school counsellor he was forced to see once a week. But maybe making friends meant talking about stuff that wasn't always nice.

"I grew up in a circus and one day there was an accident or something…" He shrugged. "I don't know, I don't really remember but I woke up in hospital and couldn't hear so…"

He took another bite of his sandwich and glanced at her. Natalia was frowning, her nose scrunched up like she didn't know if he was tricking her. He shrugged again, and said around his mouthful, "It's crazy."

Natalia shrugged too and her face relaxed. "Is not so crazy. Was probably loud bang near your head."

"Huh?" Clint laughed. "Like what, an explosion? That's _really _crazy."

"Is true!" Natalia insisted, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. "Girl in Russia had grenade explode too close. Lost hearing. Is _real_."

Clint was confused. He didn't know much about grenades, only what he saw in movies, but he knew that kids probably weren't allowed near them. Natalia didn't seem to think she had said anything weird, though. She was staring at the cookie and the apple.

"Well I don't know" Clint said. He finished his sandwich in another two bites and held the cookie out to Natalia. "You can have it."

She accepted it with an almost smile and ate it hungrily. Clint didn't really know what it would be like to live with your uncle, but he was pretty sure it should involve food. He gave her the apple too, and she chewed it slower than she had the cookie, savouring it.

"Circus" Natalia said when she had almost finished the apple and was nibbling on the core.

"Yea" Clint said, grinning. "Like with clowns and strong men and stuff."

"You are strong man?" Natalia teased.

"Nah" Clint mumbled. "But I would shoot arrows sometimes, like at targets and stuff. I'm pretty good actually."

"You show me" Natalia said, eyes suddenly bright. "One day, you show me."

"Okay" Clint agreed, right as the bell rang. He groaned. "C'mon, that means we gotta go back to class now."

Natalia stood and stretched. There were a couple of fresh bruises on her knees, around the already scabbed over scrapes he had seen yesterday. Clint wanted to know more about her, but she didn't really seem to be into sharing much. Besides, she wanted to see his archery, so that meant they would actually hang out together.

"Are we friends?" Clint asked, and then mentally slapped himself at how embarrassing he sounded.

"Yes" Natalia said, without hesitating or turning around to him. "How you speak when you can't hear?"

"Sign language" Clint told her, trying to hide the huge smile that was threatening to burst across his face. He had a friend. A weird friend, but a friend nonetheless. "I can teach you. Hey, maybe you can teach me Russian and then we can talk and no one will know what we're saying!"

"Okay," Natalia said. She spat onto her hand and Clint did the same, and they shook at the edge of the playground. Most of the kids were already inside, and Clint was probably going to get in trouble for being late, but at least he could say he had been helping the new student.

"We can meet after school every day" he said as they walked towards Natalia's class. "And practise stuff, and I don't know, just do stuff."

"Maybe not every day" Natalia said carefully. "But mostly, yes."

They reached the classroom a lot quicker than Clint would have liked. They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither one willing to say goodbye. Now that he had a friend, Clint didn't know how the other kids concentrated in class without just wanting to play all the time.

"Hey Clint" Natalia said suddenly, surprising him. "How you say thank you? In sign language?"

Clint showed her and watched as, without an ounce of hesitation, she brought her fingers away from her chin in a perfect replication of his own sign. Then she ducked into the classroom before he could say anything else.

He couldn't wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter Three

this chapter has implied child abuse and alcohol abuse

drop a review if you like! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**September**

Clint cradled his fractured wrist awkwardly to his chest and scuffed his feet against the floor, feeling annoyed and impatient.

On the floor in front of him, Natalia looked up from where she had been trying to do her homework. A thick Russian to English dictionary sat at her side, flipped open to the Russian section. Clint hadn't realised at first that Russian letters weren't the same as English ones but Natalia hadn't laughed at him.

_What's wrong?_ She signed, frowning.

_Nothing_, Clint replied. He rolled his shoulder, trying to get some feeling back into his arm, but the bulky sling was too tight. He could ask Natalia to loosen it at the back for him, but didn't know how to phrase the question.

Natalia didn't look convinced. _Whatever_.

She had picked up sign language a lot faster than Clint had expected. They had spent every day after school for the past two weeks practising, and even on the weekends sometimes when Natalia was allowed out. There was still a lot for her to learn, but Clint didn't think it would take much longer. Learning Russian, on the other hand, was going to take Clint some time.

Clint swung his feet, trying to take his mind off things, but he wasn't very good at keeping things to himself for long. "It's just unfair."

This time Natalia didn't look up. "What is?"

"Ugh. Everything!" Clint whined. "This stupid sling and this stupid meeting. Now we can't climb trees this weekend, and I was gonna show you my archery again probably."

"I still climb trees" Natalia said. "I shoot arrows. You watch."

"No way, you can't use my bow without me," Clint protested. "It's not _fair_."

Whatever, Natalia signed again.

The door opened and Miss Breslow stepped out, smiling at Clint. "You can come on in now bud."

Clint jumped off his chair and rolled his eyes at Natalia. She collected her workbook off the ground and took Clint's place on the chair. He dragged his feet behind Miss Breslow and stood by her desk, glaring holes into the carpet.

"Clint, c'mon, you know you can take seat" Miss Breslow said, sitting behind her desk. She smiled again, gesturing to the couch at the other end of the office. "Most kids like to sit there."

"No thanks" Clint mumbled. He sat on the chair opposite her and looked anywhere but her face. It was easier to lie if she couldn't see his expression.

"I see you've got yourself a shadow," Miss Breslow said, gesturing outside, where they could just make out the top of Natalia's red head through the window in the door.

"Friend" Clint corrected automatically. "She's my friend."

"That's really great Clint" Miss Breslow said. "I would love to hear more about that someday."

Clint scowled. He already didn't like having to attend weekly counsellor sessions with the school, and he really didn't want his friendship with Natalia to be scrutinised too. CPS had insisted that the counselling was to be mandatory. Clint liked Miss Breslow, but it was frustrating to have to talk to her about things that he really didn't want to talk about.

"I'm actually wanting to ask about your arm, though" Miss Breslow said, and when Clint chanced a glance at her she actually looked concerned. "How did that happen, bud?"

"Fell out of a tree" Clint replied automatically. "It's just a fracture."

"Were you climbing with your friend or by yourself?" Miss Breslow asked.

"With Natalia," Clint said. "She went to get my mum."

If he was going to lie, he might as well make it a good one. It probably wouldn't be hard to convince Natalia to lie for him, even if she didn't know the whole truth herself. He would tell her one-day; about how his dad had been a little too drunk, how he had gotten just a little too rough with Clint this time. Harold Barton was usually sensible enough to not leave visible marks, but there was always an exception.

Clint supposed that CPS was suspicious that him and his brother were being abused. It wasn't something anyone ever asked directly, but Clint had to attend school counselling and Barney had a real therapist in town. Barney didn't have to lie as convincingly as Clint did, though. He was old enough to push back now.

Miss Breslow made a note on her sheet of paper. "Ouch, that would hurt. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty bored" Clint admitted. "Can't really do much, but the cast should come off in like four weeks. It's not that long I guess."

"It'll fly by before you know," Miss Breslow said, and she was obviously satisfied with his answer because she smiled again and put the paper aside. "We're just gonna go through our usual stuff now, okay. Then you can go home."

* * *

By the time Clint's session was finished, he was exhausted. Natalia was waiting for him by the door, her backpack already slung onto her shoulders. She passed him his and helped him thread his good arm through the strap before they made their way out of the school.

"That was the worst," Clint groaned once they were on the street and off school grounds. "Miss Breslow would be such a cool teacher if she did like, PE or something."

"What you talk about?" Natalia asked. She was practising her signs as she walked, running through the alphabet before switching to simple phrases. Clint didn't know how her brain kept up with it all; thinking in Russian, speaking English and signing at the same time made his own head hurt just imagining it.

"Just normal stuff. She asked about my arm, though" Clint said before he could stop himself.

They reached the first paddock that would give them a short cut to the dirt road home. Clint tossed his backpack over the fence and squeezed through the small space where a shed and the fence met. Natalia hoisted herself up and over, landing gracefully on the other side.

"Why?" she said as they continued walking. The grass was waist high, and she abandoned her signing to instead let her hands hang by her sides and brush through the blades.

"Cause they think something happened," Clint said, hesitating to tell her much more. He hoped she would just drop it, but he was mad at himself for even bringing it up in the first place.

"_Da_, but why?"

"Cause of the circus stuff. Cause sometimes they think bad stuff is happening," Clint admitted, before adding quickly, "but it's not!"

Natalia frowned at him. "What you tell them?"

"That I fell out of a tree" Clint said softly. "You were there and you got my mum. So now they might ask you. 'M sorry."

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away from her, out across the paddock. He felt like he had blown it now. She would think he was a freak, she would hate him for dragging her into something she didn't even understand. He was stupid to have let her stay back with him after school. He should have just made her go home. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"What happened?" she asked eventually. Her voice was low, almost too low for Clint to hear. She had stopped walking and stood still in front of him, green eyes wide.

Clint felt a little like being sick, but he held it in. This was the moment he lost his only friend, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. The silence seemed to stretch on between them, broken only by the sounds of birds and distant traffic.

_My dad,_ he signed shakily, not being able to force the words past his lips. This was it, his biggest secret, out hovering in the space between their small bodies. He didn't know why he was telling her, his only friend who he had known for nearly three weeks. She would tell CPS and they would take him away and he wouldn't see his mum again.

_My dad drinks a lot_, he continued, the signs awkward because of his broken arm. _And sometimes he gets mad_.

Natalia stared at his arm. She raised her hand, reaching out as though to touch the cast, then let her arm fall back to her side before she could. Clint's heart hammered in his chest as he waited.

"_Mudak_" Natalia hissed, her face suddenly fierce and angry. She brought her hands to her temples and tugged on her hair, teeth smashed together and looking every bit as afraid as Clint felt.

"I don't know what that means" he whispered weakly.

She yanked at her hair one last time and then moved so quickly up to him that he almost fell over backwards. She stared at him, breathing heavily, then yanked her shirt up to just below her chest. Clint didn't want to look, kept his eyes focused on her face as she used her free hand to sign.

_Me too_, she was signing, over and over again, and when Clint finally looked down he saw purple and blue blooming across the pale expanse of her stomach.

"Oh," he said, and none of it made sense, just that she was the same as him; scared and hurt and mostly alone. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Oh," she repeated. "I know."


	4. Chapter Four

**October**

It was about to be the last warm weekend of the year, and Clint couldn't keep his eyes off the clock. The sun was bright and hot through the classroom window, making the kids lazy as the last minutes ticked by. Clint wasn't the only one who just wanted to leave school behind and spend the weekend outside.

Even though he was itching to jump up from his chair the second the bell rang, Clint still waited until everyone else had left first. He gathered his things slowly, letting the last of the kids shove past him and laugh in his direction. He didn't know what for, but didn't really care. He just wanted to get home and get his hands on his bow.

Natalia was waiting by his classroom door, glaring at anyone who so much as glanced at her. Clint couldn't help but smile as the others kids hurried away from her. Natalia didn't have any other friends, though Clint was sure she would be able to be friends with anyone if she tried.

"Hey," he said to her, and she turned to face him, eyes still narrowed.

"Hi. Why they look at me?"

Clint shrugged and they began to make their way down the crowded hallway. "Maybe because you're from a different country."

_Whatever_, Natalia signed. Clint was beginning to think it was her favourite sign.

_You coming over?_ He asked.

_Homework_, she reminded him, and pulled a face. _We could do it together?_

_Okay_, Clint agreed. He was a little annoyed that they had homework in the first place, and that Natalia was so strict on finishing it. Even if it took them most of the afternoon, they would still have the rest of the weekend to spend outside. He tried not to let it ruin his good mood.

It was easy to walk in silence with Natalia. Clint didn't feel awkward around her, and there wasn't really a need to fill the space with sound, especially now that they could speak to each other with just their hands. Ever since he had lost most of his hearing, Clint had found himself with a greater appreciation for quiet and still moments. Natalia didn't share much about herself, and had been speaking less since that day after school in the paddock.

They hadn't really gone into the details of it, even now, almost a month after Natalia had shown him her bruised stomach. Clint hadn't known what to say then, and he still didn't know what to say now. They had just kept walking home, silent and scared. Things had been mostly the same since then, except Natalia often seemed more withdrawn. Clint's arm had healed nicely and he was back to practising his archery. But sometimes he found himself thinking about Natalia being hurt and it made him so angry that he couldn't think straight.

"What you are thinking?" Natalia asked. She was about to step out onto the road but Clint snagged the strap of her backpack seconds before a car went flying past them, pulling her back.

"You're s'posed to look both ways!" Clint exclaimed, heart pounding. He waited until the road was clear before releasing her backpack and crossing with her. "It's dangerous."

Natalia rolled her eyes, her lips twitching. She looked like she was almost about to smile. "Is just a car."

"Doesn't matter" Clint mumbled. "Anyway, I was thinking bout how much practise I can squeeze into one day before my arms actually fall off."

Clint saw Natalia's mouth open, but he didn't hear the words or the people behind them; just watched in slow motion as Natalia pitched forward, hands flying out to catch herself as her knees slammed against the concrete sidewalk.

Clint spun around, trying to figure out what was going on. He felt his stomach drop as he saw the three girls standing there, bent over in laughter as they pointed at Natalia. It was Clarissa Rydell, the most popular girl in the whole fourth grade. She was giggling so loud it was making Clint's ears ring.

"Hey, cut it out" he said. He glanced at Natalia, who sat on the sidewalk examining her bloodied hands. "That wasn't very nice."

"What a _freak_" Clarissa squealed, and her two little friends nodded in agreement. "Y'all are just a bunch of losers. Can you hear me, weirdo?"

Clint felt heat creep up his neck as Clarissa mimicked signing, exaggerating the movements right up close to his face. He didn't want to look at her, he just wanted to grab Natalia and go home, pretend it never happened. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was standing, now, her backpack discarded on the ground.

"He can't even hear me, what a loser," Clarissa said. She stopped pretending to sign and instead stood back a little, arms crossed over her chest. "My daddy said you're just gonna be a dropout drug-head."

Clint was seriously considering just leaving Natalia behind and running home himself. He felt sick, and willed himself not to cry. He was meant to be tough, he wanted to be tough like Barney and his dad, but he was just stupid and weak, he couldn't even stand up to a girl –

"Stop," Natalia said. She was standing beside him now, their shoulders brushing. Her voice sounded deeper, and Clint didn't need to see her face to know that she was mad. "You walk away now."

"Shut. Up," Clarissa said. "You're just a stupid freak too. You can't even speak English like a normal person."

"One more chance" Natalia said, clenching her fists.

"My daddy said only one thing happens to girls from Russia" Clarissa smirked. "They turn into _whores_."

Clint felt the blood drain from his face, not just because Clarissa had said a curse word, but because he could actually feel Natalia freeze beside him. He hoped that she didn't know what it meant, that it was just another nonsense English word she hadn't encountered yet. It was just the five of them, Clarissa and her giggly sidekicks, and Clint and Natalia; there were no adults to help, or teachers to tell.

He didn't see Natalia move until Clarissa was already flying back. A second later, the smack of Natalia's fist connecting with Clarissa's nose filtered into his ears. By the time he realised that Natalia had actually punched Clarissa in the face, there was already blood streaming out of her nose and down the front of her shirt.

Clarissa's friends screamed. Natalia launched herself at Clarissa again and they fell to the ground, Clarissa crying and Natalia pulling back to punch her again. Clint watched it as though in a daze, not really knowing what to do until Clarissa's two friends ran off and he realised that they might be going to get an adult.

"Natalia" he called out, and she spun around to him, fists raised as though she would hit him too.

For a second, he almost didn't recognise her. The look in her eyes was something he had sometimes seen in his dad, but it was deadlier. She was dark and fiery and _scary_. He held his hands up in the universal sign of peace, breathing deeply.

Natalia blinked and lowered her fists. Then, she grabbed her backpack off the ground with one hand and took Clint's in her other, and they ran as fast as they could towards the gravel road.

It was Clint who stopped first when his house came into view. He doubled over and tried to breathe past the stitch in his side. Natalia stopped running too, but kept walking away from him. He tried to clear his head but it was useless, because Natalia had just punched the most popular girl in fourth grade and he couldn't tell if he was more impressed or scared.

"Hey, Natalia, wait!" he called to her back, but she didn't stop. He groaned and jogged to catch up to her, reaching out to grab her shoulder. "Hey –"

She slapped his hand away, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged. She looked different; a little scared but mostly wild, like she might bolt at any moment. It was kind of like the first time he had seen her climbing out of his kitchen window, except there was a sharper edge to her now.

"What was that?" Clint asked, pretending not to be hurt by her actions. "You just hit Clarissa Rydell."

"She was mean" Natalia said simply. "Is not nice to call people names."

"Yea, but you _hit her_ hit her. Like, she was bleeding everywhere. It was super cool but maybe you shouldn't do it again."

Natalia sagged into herself, as though all the fight had left her. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and swayed on the spot, chewing her lip. Clint thought she was shaking but couldn't really be sure.

"You okay?" he asked gently. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was really hungry, and kind of wanted to watch cartoons all afternoon instead of staying outside.

"I –" she started, then swallowed and blinked furiously. "I come for training. Is not… is not normal."

Clint was confused. "Huh? What's that mean?"

"Uncle Ivan is not real uncle, Clint. He take me to train me."

The silence that fell between them was heavy and uncomfortable. Clint was trying to make sense of what she was saying, but it just didn't sound real.

"You were kidnapped?" he said eventually.

"From orphanage. They take me to train me." Natalia drew in a shuddering breath, meeting his gaze with eyes that were softer than they had been moments before. "To be spy. To do… bad things."

"Okay" Clint said. He stopped and thought it through. This kind of stuff only happened in movies, but Natalia really was shaking now, and she looked very scared and it would explain why she was so good at punching, and –

"Is secret," she said, her voice soft but desperate. "If he find out… I want to stay here. Please."

"Okay" Clint said again. He shrugged and scratched the back of his head. "We've gotta talk about all of this properly if it's gonna be a secret."

He spat on his hand and held it out to her. He didn't really know what he was doing, just that he had seen a side of Natalia that was scary and different and he wanted to understand it. She spat in her own hand and they shook eagerly.

"Are you okay Natalia?" Clint said as they began to walk slowly towards his house.

Natalia shrugged one shoulder, twisting her hands in front of her. "You call me Natasha."

"Why?" Clint asked. "I don't know if you can just change your name."

"I am" Natalia said stubbornly. "Natalia is… is not me. Is someone else, is made for someone else. You call me Natasha. I like it."

"Right" Clint said, but figured he could get used to it. Whatever was happening, whatever was about to happen, would probably be worse than Natasha changing her name. "Okay, _Natasha_, are you okay."

"_Da_" Natasha said, and then switched to sign. _I'm okay. Promise._

Clint didn't really believe her, but with the warm sun on his head and his best friend by his side, it was easy to pretend for a moment that it was the truth.


	5. Chapter Five

"So," Clint said, resting his head on his forearms. "You gonna teach me how to fight?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from her work. "Why?"

"Then I can beat up people who're mean to me and you won't have to do it."

"You only beat up bad people?" Natasha asked.

"Obviously" Clint said. "Only bad guys like your uncle."

This made Natasha put her pencil down and look over at him. "And your dad."

Clint huffed. "Right. But your uncle is totally worse, ya know, if we were gonna compare them."

It was kind of surreal, to be siting with Natasha and talking about completely horrible things as if it was normal. When Clint had thought about what it would be like to have a best friend, he had imagined riding bikes and playing in the woods. He hadn't thought he would ever have someone to share big secrets with, though. Especially the kind of secrets that he was apparently now keeping for Natasha.

He thought Natasha might fight him on it, but she just shook her head and picked up her pencil again. "Not real uncle."

"Right" Clint drawled again. "Maybe we could report it?"

"They make me go back to Russia" Natasha said. "Is probably illegal for me to live here."

"The police would let you stay, because you were kidnapped or whatever" Clint suggested. "Or CPS. I could tell my case worker."

"_Nyet_" Natasha mumbled. "Nobody care. How this sentence work?"

Clint rolled over onto his back and sighed. After everything that had happened that afternoon, he hadn't expected Natasha to still want to do her homework; but here they were, sprawled across his bedroom floor with English worksheets between them and Natasha's huge dictionary open to the side.

"Can't see it" Clint moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "If I don't see it then it doesn't exist, it's the law."

"Those cars makes a loud sound as they race around the track," Natasha read slowly, her accent thick and unsteady. "Is correct?"

"Think its s'posed to be 'those cars _make_ a loud sound'" Clint said. "It's gotta make sense, or else the sentence isn't in agreement or something."

Natasha sighed. "I am not good at sentences."

"But you're really good at math" Clint said. He took his arm off his eyes and turned his head to look at Natasha. "You'll get the hang of English one day."

The bedroom door banged open and Barney peered in, eyes widening as he took in Clint and Natasha. This was the first time Natasha had been inside of Clint's house since she had stolen the cookie, though Clint didn't really think that time had counted. They had been friends for two short months but Clint felt a little like he had known Natasha forever. It was still crazy for him to think about how quickly they had begun to rely on each other, though. Clint had never had a relationship like that in his whole life.

"Who's that?" Barney blurted, smirking.

Clint fought the urge to groan, already knowing that Barney was going to tease him for having a friend who was a girl. Even though he was four years older than Clint, Barney was immature and a bit of a jerk.

"I'm Natasha," Natasha said when Clint didn't immediately answer.

"Where are you from?" Barney asked. "You foreign?"

"Barney!" Clint hissed, feeling a little embarrassed at his brother's abruptness. "She's from Russia, she's new here."

"You're not supposed to have the door closed with girls in your room" Barney teased, waggling his eyebrows.

Clint stopped himself from throwing the Russian dictionary at Barney's head. "What do you want?"

"Mum said your snack is ready," Barney said, and pushed himself away from the door. "Nice to meet you, Red."

Natasha rolled her eyes at his back and signed to Clint, _he seems nice_.

Clint snorted and they stood so they could make their way downstairs. _He's an idiot_.

Edith had made them a huge fruit platter, and had even pulled out the sour worm candy and donuts that she usually saved for a treat. She smiled at them as they pulled themselves up onto the kitchen stools. Though she hadn't said anything to him yet, Clint could tell that she was beyond happy he had finally made a friend.

"I hope you two aren't working too hard up there," she said as she poured them each a glass of orange juice. "It's such a beautiful day outside, I'm surprised you convinced Clint to do his homework."

Natasha was staring at the food as though she didn't know what any of it was, which Clint assumed was probably true. He didn't even know what kind of candy they had in Russia. He grabbed a donut and shoved half of it into his mouth. Usually they couldn't afford things like donuts.

"Is not so bad" Natasha answered, finally choosing an apple slice.

"What are you working on?" Edith asked.

"English" Clint answered after he had swallowed. "And a little math, but we might go outside soon."

Edith smiled again and ruffled Clint's hair as she passed him to leave the kitchen. "You let me know if you need anything else."

The good thing about his mum was that she didn't hover. Clint supposed that having kids in the circus had made her less strict, or maybe she just didn't care as much as other parents. He had never though about what it must be like for her, to live with someone like his father and raise two children on her own.

"I like her" Natasha declared.

Clint nodded his agreement. "Do you ever miss your parents?"

"I do not remember" Natasha said softly. "Is not... the same for me."

Clint ripped open the bag of sour worms and glanced at her, trying to be as delicate as possible. "I think we need to talk about what's happening. For real."

Natasha shook her head, red curls bouncing. "Is not nice."

"Yea, but you're my best friend and I wanna help you," Clint said sincerely. "And I won't ever tell anyone your secret, okay? I promise."

"I train," Natasha began quietly, bringing her hands up so she could sign it too. "Is like… is like orphanage, with other girls. But they take us from family, and they make us fight and…"

Clint swallowed the hard wad of sour worms in his mouth. He felt a little sick, hearing what Natasha was saying, but knew it was important as her friend that he listened. He would be able to help her, he was sure of it. He just had to know how bad it was.

"They hurt us," Natasha continued. "Hit and push us. Is for training, so we be strong and fight back. They give us gun and teach us shooting. They want us to be spy and kill people that do not like Russia. Is bad."

"That can't be allowed" Clint whispered. "The police would have to stop it. They can't make you _kill_ people."

"Not yet, but one day…" Natasha was pale, her hands shaking as she signed. "Is why it is secret. In Russia, not even government knows."

Clint blew out a breath. Suddenly, helping Natasha seemed like the hardest thing in the world. What could a ten year old possibly do that would make a difference?

"Why did you come to America?" he asked eventually.

"Uncle Ivan tell them is for training, to learn new culture so I can infiltrate perfectly" Natasha said, and Clint didn't even know what infiltrate meant but assumed it wasn't good. "But he just want me by myself. I am his favourite."

"You can't stay with him, Natasha" Clint said. He couldn't believe how bad this was. He had kind of thought it was like his own situation; an alcoholic relative got a little angry and a little too rough sometimes, and nobody said anything because it wasn't that bad, it was just dad being dad. But Natasha was being used for something worse, and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Where else I go?" Natasha said. "Back to Russia, so they brainwash me quick like others? Some girls do not remember anything, just training. I am lucky to have this."

She grabbed a sour worm and popped it into her mouth. Clint could tell she was trying to distract herself, because she was blinking fast and not looking at him. He kind of felt like crying, too, but didn't know how to tell her it was okay.

_Please keep this secret for me_, she signed. _When it gets bad, I'll tell you. And when it's not bad, we can just forget and have fun. Please Clint. I just want to forget._

Clint nodded, feeling drained and yuck. Everything had changed, including their friendship. He couldn't let her be alone; he couldn't stop being her friend even though a small part of him didn't want to be involved in this.

_My dad beats me up because he hates me_, Clint admitted. _I want to forget too._

Natasha smiled at him, probably the first real smile he had ever seen from her, and ate another sour worm. "I like this."

He didn't know if she was talking about the candy or their deal, but Clint didn't want to ask any more questions. Nothing was normal. It felt like the world had stopped spinning for a minute and they had been left behind when it started again. How was he supposed to go to school and do his homework when he knew that there was something horrible happening to his best friend?

He didn't mention any of his fears. He just smiled back at Natasha, pushing the feeling of despair deep down and locking it away. They could pretend to be normal kids with normal problems if they tried hard enough.

"I like this too" he said anyway. "We should go practise fighting."


	6. Chapter Six

this is mainly a filler chapter bc i felt like writing but wasn't ready to jump into the Big Stuff. hope you enjoy! Big Stuff is coming!

drop a review! i love them!

* * *

**November**

It wasn't long before a thick layer of snow was covering the ground and Edith was forcing her son to wear his beanie and scarf. The days were icy and cold, and walking to school was not nearly as fun as it usually was. Plus, Clint wasn't allowed to spend as much time outside after school now too, and it was already starting to drive him a little crazy.

"Is worse in Russia." Natasha walked beside him, her cheeks rosy from being exposed to the frigid temperature. She had her tongue poked out, trying to catch the sparse drops of snow that fell from the sky around them.

Clint shrugged. "I don't really like the snow so much. It's probably the same everywhere."

Natasha snorted. "_Nyet_. Is worse in Russia."

It was early morning, earlier than most kids went to school, but Clint and Natasha had a fair way to walk. The snow wasn't helping matters, and even though Clint's boots were new, he could feel his socks growing wetter by the second.

But Natasha seemed happy. She was a little more vibrant, smiling and even laughing at Clint's lame jokes. It had felt like an achievement, the first time he had pried a giggle from between her lips, and even now that it was becoming more natural, he wasn't taking it for granted.

They had started sparring every day after school, and Natasha hadn't been kidding about the things she had told him. Clint had quickly learned that she was faster than him. And stronger, and more flexible. He didn't feel embarrassed about it, though, because Natasha was still teaching him, and he appreciated every second of it.

She bumped her shoulder against his. "What you are thinking?"

"Just bout fighting and stuff" Clint said. "Thanks for teaching me. I dunno if I said that yet."

Natasha grinned at him, bright and brilliant. "_Pozhaluysta_."

"Right," Clint muttered. "I'm s'posed to be learning Russian too."

"Is hard" Natasha said. "You doing okay."

"_Spasibo_" he said, his tongue feeling chunky around the word. Judging by the look on Natasha's face, though, she was pleased.

They had almost reached the school grounds. Clint wanted to slow down and take his time, not ready to start class, but Natasha was determined to be on time. He had never met a nine year old with as much commitment as she had for learning.

_We'll meet at the normal spot after school_, Natasha signed. _Homework first_.

_Whatever_, Clint signed, smirking, and she smacked him across the chest.

_I mean it_, she said, and then disappeared into the crowd of kids before Clint could even move his hands to sign back. Natasha was a mystery, but he felt like he was slowly getting to know the real her: the girl who loved to learn and fight and let snow melt on her tongue. They were an odd pair. Clint couldn't even begin to think about where they would end up.

* * *

After school, Clint waited in the usual spot for Natasha to meet him for their walk home. He watched the air puff out in front of him and thought about how cool it would be to have a dragon, or even cooler, to _be_ a dragon.

There was a man Clint had never seen before waiting just by him. He was bald, with an array of tattoos covering his arms and knuckles. The rings he wore were gold and big, and Clint couldn't figure out why he was there. The man was fit and muscular, nothing like the other dads that Clint had seen waiting for their kids.

His curiosity was answered not a minute later, when Natasha brushed past him, not even making eye contact, and made her way over to the man. Clint stood for a second, dumbstruck, and watched as the man took her backpack from off her shoulders and threw it into the backseat of a car.

Clint crept closer, pretending to look down the road as if he were waiting for a car to pick him up, too. This wasn't normal, it wasn't part of their routine. Natasha turned to him then, eyes wide and scared, and made one very abrupt sign that the man wouldn't be able to see with her back turned to him.

_I'm fine_.

Clint wasn't convinced, but he couldn't really say anything. He twisted his own hands, feeling a little anxious as he stood right by Natasha. The man barely payed Clint any attention as he opened the car door for Natasha.

"How was school?" Clint heard him ask her. His voice was deep, his accent noticeable but controlled. Clint realised with a jolt that the man was probably Natasha's uncle, and suddenly his vision turned red.

He couldn't stand there and watch Natasha go with him. Even though she always went back to him, it was real now that Clint had seen the man. But before he could even think of saying anything, the car was speeding away, and Clint was left standing on the sidewalk, cold and alone.

* * *

Clint didn't see Natasha for the rest of the week. During that time, he thought of every possible worst-case scenario that could have happened to her. She wasn't even at school, which he thought was the weirdest part of it all. Natasha loved school. She wouldn't miss it for the world.

Edith had all but forced him outside on the weekend, snapping at him to stop being so moody and pull his head in. So he took his bow to the woods, all the way to the clearing where him and Natasha usually practised fighting.

He stopped when he got there, shocked. The clearing had always been just that: a clearing, surrounded by tall trees and not much else. But now there was something new, and Clint didn't know what to think of it.

It was a hut. The tiniest hut Clint had ever seen, but it was there and it was real. He moved a little closer to it, hands clenched tightly around his bow. It was missing half of the roof, and only had three walls, but it was obviously man-made. There was a fallen log by the front of the hut, and a dark spot on the ground that kind of looked like a fire pit. He frowned, scratching his head.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Clint jumped around, heart racing, and came face to face with Natasha. He kind of wanted to hug her, but felt more annoyed than anything else. She hadn't told him where she was, and now she had just appeared from nowhere like nothing had happened.

Except, she looked really bad.

Her normally pale face was even whiter than usual, and the circles under her eyes were dark and heavy. She had her arms wrapped around her stomach, shoulders hunched. Her lips were cracked and she was bleeding from a tiny pinprick in the crook of her arm.

Clint swallowed thickly. "Hey."

Natasha swayed a moment, and then her hazy eyes focused on his face. "Hi."

"You okay?" he asked carefully.

"_Da_," Natasha sighed. "I am training."

Clint didn't ask what she was supposed to be doing. He had a feeling that the new hut had something to do with her and her uncle, but he didn't ask. He wanted to ask her a million questions, like where she had been and what had happened to her and if she thought it would get worse.

But he didn't ask any of them. Instead, he sat on the log and waited for her to sit beside him. He dropped his bow on the ground and fiddled idly with his fingers. She sagged against him, the closest they had ever been to each other.

"Yesterday was my birthday" she said, her words slow.

Clint wanted to kick himself for not knowing that. He also wanted to punch Ivan for ruining Natasha's day. "Happy Birthday, Tash."

"You never call me that," she mumbled.

"It's a nickname," Clint explained. He looked at Natasha, who still had her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection like she was holding herself together. "Everyone needs a nickname."

She didn't say anything after that. Clint didn't think she needed to.


	7. Chapter Seven

**December**

They didn't end up talking about it.

The weeks passed slowly; most days, Natasha was fully with him, bright and eager and sharp. But then there were the days where she didn't seem to be there at all, where she took a little longer to respond and spent a lot of time staring blankly at him. Clint figured it had something to do with the hut and the week she had been missing, but he didn't know how to bring it up.

Natasha hadn't said anything, not that he really expected her to. He had thought that after she told him the truth of what was happening to her then all of the conversations after that would be easier, that they would work it out together. It hadn't happened, though. If anything, they were just getting better at ignoring their problems and it made Clint feel like a bad friend.

"What if, hypothetically, someone was getting hurt all the time?" Clint started carefully. "Would the police help them?"

Miss Breslow raised an eyebrow and put her pen down. "Is someone hurting you, Clint?"

Clint shook his head. "Nah, it's _hypothetical_. No one's getting hurt."

He didn't really know what he was doing, talking to Miss Breslow willingly. He had spent some time thinking it through, though, and thought that if anyone could help him help Natasha it would be the school counsellor. It wasn't something he had ever imagined himself doing, but he was more worried about Natasha than anything else.

If there was the possibility of an adult actually being able to help, then Clint was going to try. It didn't matter that he would never think of doing the same thing for himself; as far as he was concerned, what was happening to Natasha was a whole lot worse than his dad getting drunk and angry.

"Is this about your shadow?" Miss Breslow asked kindly. "Is something happening to her?"

"Natasha's my _friend_" Clint stressed. He didn't have to look behind him to know that she was still sitting on the chair by the door where he'd left her. She hadn't been having the best day, and had been more than happy to follow Clint along to his appointment and wait. He wasn't sure if she even realised where she was, which was concerning.

"Natalia Romanova?" Miss Breslow frowned and looked down at her paper.

"Natasha, Natalia, whatever" Clint muttered and kicked his feet. "This is stupid, don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry" Miss Breslow said. She pushed her work away from her and leant back in her chair, trying to look as casual as possible. "Let's keep going with this hypothetical situation. If someone were being hurt then of course the police would help them. That's what the police are there for."

Clint thought about it for a second. He kind of figured that the police would have to help, but he didn't know how to ask Miss Breslow if that would change if it was a kid being hurt by someone really powerful.

"Okay, what if the person that was doing the bad stuff was actually, like, really rich or something and might pay the police off?"

He tried to ignore the look on Miss Breslow's face. He was in dangerous territory, and didn't quite know if Miss Breslow would have to tell someone else about this conversation. CPS would probably stop by for a surprise check-up in the next couple of weeks.

"The police can't be payed off, Clint," she replied carefully. "If someone was being hurt, even if the abuser was someone in power, then the police would put a stop to it. If something is happening, please don't be scared to speak up about it."

Clint nodded, though he didn't believe her. "Everything's fine, Miss. I saw a movie with my brother about bad cops and just didn't know if it was _real _real."

Miss Breslow's smile was tight as she leant forward. "I hope you're telling the truth."

He felt anxiety bloom in the pit of his stomach but tried to shake it off for Natasha's sake. He smiled his most charming smile and hoped that his fear didn't show on his face. "Course I am. I would never lie to you."

* * *

It was ice cold by the time Natasha and Clint made it to the gravel road. They hadn't said much since leaving school, Clint busy thinking about his conversation with Miss Breslow and Natasha lost in her head again. Their breath fogged out in front of them, thick enough to momentarily distract Clint.

"Dragons!" he exclaimed. "I was gonna tell you that day, and then I forgot because ya know, everything was weird. But if you breathe out real hard in the cold it looks like you're a dragon."

Natasha glanced at him. She had forgotten her scarf and gloves, or maybe hadn't had them given to her, but now her lips were tinged blue. Clint frowned and took off his own beanie to pull over her red curls.

"What?" she snapped, jumping away from him.

He held the beanie out to her. "Put it on before you freeze to death."

He didn't know where his tone came from, but he was done watching Natasha suffer. She was his friend, his _best _friend, and even though they had only known each other for a few short months, he felt a kind of protectiveness over her that he had never experienced before.

She snatched the hat out of his hands and put it on herself, glaring at him. He glared back, then stuck his tongue out and pulled a face that made her smile softly.

"_Drakon_" Natasha said, and puffed out a breath into the icy air.

"That's an easy one" Clint laughed. "_Drakon_. Hey, I spoke to Miss Breslow about what would happen if we talked to the police."

Natasha's reaction was bodily. She spun to him and shoved him hard in the chest, making him stumble back to try and keep his footing. "What you mean?"

"Hey!" Clint said, and held his hands up in peace. "Just calm down a second!"

Natasha rounded on him again, her tiny fists flying out to pound against whatever flesh she could reach. Clint ducked and weaved, shouting at her as he tried to avoid her blows. They had been practising enough fighting that he knew how to dodge her, but she was still always a step ahead of him.

"Natasha!" he called, breathless and dizzy from turning in circles. He managed to wrap his hand around her wrist and yank her arm down. She froze, green eyes wide, and stared at him.

"Let me explain" he groaned, and let her go.

She stared at him for a second longer before yanking the beanie off her head and throwing it on the ground. "I trust you," she said as she began to walk away. "You tell me is secret and I _trust you_."

"I didn't tell her anything, Tash" Clint said quickly, trying to redeem himself. He scooped the beanie up and jogged to catch up to her. "It was hypothetical."

"I do not care," she snapped. "Is real. Now they look for me. They send me back."

"Hypothetical means it's not re –"

"I know what it means," Natasha snapped. "_Mudak_."

"Well I still don't know what that means" Clint muttered to himself, but Natasha was still moving away from him, her feet crunching into the snow beneath them.

"I'm just worried about you" Clint shouted. He was frustrated and scared and just plain angry. He wanted to shake Natasha to see if it would make her realise. Instead he clenched his fists and worked on breathing deeply. "You don't tell me anything! You said you would and you never did, and I always get scared when I see you because what if one day it gets really bad, huh? Then what?"

Natasha stopped walking and turned to face him again. "I do not want you in way. You will get hurt."

"I don't care, Tash, okay," Clint said. "You're my only friend. The only person I can talk to bout stuff, but you're not seeing how messed up it is."

"You think I not see?" Natasha muttered, her voice dangerously low. "I am ten, what I am going to do? Ivan is big and stronger. He take me back to Russia and I never know I was even here."

Clint's stomach dropped. Natasha's blue lips where quivering, like she was trying not to cry. He wanted to reach out and touch her but thought she would probably hit him again.

"You want to know?" she continued, arms winding around her midsection like she usually did when she was scared. "On birthday he put needle in me for first time. I do not think clearly. Is fog in my brain, holes missing. I look at you and is clear."

Clint held his breath, remembering the way Natasha had moved that day in the woods and the tiny droplets of blood in the crook of her arm. She had mentioned it so briefly that Clint hadn't even paid any attention to it, but now it was real. She was being brainwashed. The force of the thought left Clint feeling winded.

"I am ten, what I am to do?" she cried, voice high and frantic. "He take me back to Russia next year. For Russian Christmas, but is lie. I come back and might not remember…"

"You're going back?" Clint whispered.

"_Da_," Natasha said. "For start of real training. They take away memories that do not help training. They might take you."

Clint felt shattered. Natasha was trembling, her whole body rocking. She was panting, too, as though she was about to start crying. Clint felt like crying too.

"You'll remember," he said huskily. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You will. But you gotta let me help you."

Natasha sagged into herself until she was almost bent in half. Clint reached out with shaky hands and tugged the beanie onto her head again. He gave her a moment to collect herself and stepped away.

He felt disgusted. A part of him wished he had never been dragged into this mess, but he was glad that Natasha at least had one person that cared about her. He didn't want her to go to Russia. He couldn't even imagine going back to school and not seeing her there, or not walking home with her.

"Is hard for me" she said eventually, and stood up straight. "To trust and be friends."

"The stuff with Miss Breslow was stupid" Clint admitted. "I just wanted to know if I could help you. If we could get you outta there and let you stay."

"Maybe one day" Natasha said softly. "But first I go to Russia."

Clint swallowed and nodded. It wasn't quite Christmas yet, though he didn't even know when Russian Christmas was. They still had time to play and be kids. He would make it the best weeks of her life so she couldn't possibly forget any of it, no matter how many needles they stuck in her.

"_Drakon_" he said, and blew out his breath in a puff of white.

Natasha smiled again. "_Vy slishkom dobry_. We go home now."

* * *

Clint lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and feeling sick to his stomach.

He hadn't been able to finish his dinner, and had even gone to bed early complaining of a headache. Edith had checked his temperature and tucked him in, and Clint didn't feel embarrassed about it; he had needed the comfort of his mum and she had somehow known exactly what to do to make him feel a little better.

The curtain was open so he could see out into the yard. His hearing aids sat on the bedside table, and it was nice to be shrouded in silence. He could focus on his thoughts and feelings, even if thinking about what had happened made him feel even sicker.

A blast of cold air suddenly hit his face, and he sat up in bed to find his window open. Frowning, he was about to get up and investigate when Natasha suddenly hoisted herself over the windowpane and landed on his carpeted floor.

They stared at each other for a second. Natasha closed the window and the chill left the air almost immediately. She was only wearing short pyjamas and no shoes, and Clint could see her teeth chattering from across the room. She opened her mouth but he couldn't make out her lips in the dim lighting.

_Cold?_ He signed and she nodded, crossing the room carefully. Without waiting for him to say anything else she pulled the covers back and climbed in beside him, curling into an impossibly small ball at his side.

Her body was freezing. Clint felt goose bumps prickle his arms as his body tried to adjust to the temperature change. He felt a little weird, having Natasha in his bed, since they hadn't even had a normal sleepover before. But she had walked to his house in the cold and dark for a reason, and he wasn't about to turn her away.

_Didn't want to be alone_, she signed, cramped and small in the space between their bodies.

_Your uncle?_ Clint asked. He was so glad his dad wasn't home, or otherwise there would be trouble.

_Out. Sometimes he leaves for a few days. It's fine._

Clint nodded and rolled onto his side so they were properly facing each other. He couldn't hear her breaths but felt them on his face, slow and steady. She was beginning to warm up now. Clint was glad she was so small, because otherwise there wouldn't be much room in the bed.

_You okay? _He asked.

_Mostly,_ she replied, and smiled softly. _Tell me it will be okay._

He didn't want to lie to her, because he didn't know if anything was going to be okay. She had been right; they were only ten, and dealing with things that were a lot bigger than the two of them. Nobody would care, not really. He didn't want to lie to her

_It'll be okay_, he signed instead of telling her what he really thought. She closed her eyes then, her breath still steady against his face. He wanted to stay that way forever. He kept his own eyes open for as long as possible, holding onto the moment before it wasn't okay anymore.


	8. Chapter Eight

thanks so much for the reviews guys! this chapter mentions brain-washing/ memory altering

thanks for reading x

* * *

**Iowa, 2000**

**March**

At first Clint could pretend that it wasn't real. School started back after Christmas break and even though Natasha wasn't there, it was easy to imagine that she was just having an extra week of vacation. She had explained to him that Russian Christmas was celebrated in January, and that she would probably be gone for the whole month. He knew that it was only an excuse to get her out of the country and back to Russia, but there wasn't much they could do about it.

January came and went, and February followed too quickly. Clint waited on the gravel road every morning for Natasha to come back until it became clear that she wasn't. He was back on his own again, struggling through classes with kids that picked on him now more than ever. He even landed himself in detention for punching a boy in the stomach. Edith hadn't said anything about it, but the hurt in her eyes had been enough for him to stop lashing out physically.

Home had even been okay for a while. Harold had been around to celebrate Clint's birthday in March, and he had even been given the one thing he wanted most, a boxing bag. His parents hadn't asked questions, but Harold had been pretty pleased that Clint was taking an interest in a sport that wasn't archery. Barney had helped him drag the bag into the woods so that he could hang it near the little hut, and that was where he had been spending most of his time waiting for Natasha to come back.

The peace didn't last long. Harold was arrested for drunk driving and CPS dropped in several times to ensure that Clint and Barney were being properly looked after. Edith spent most days in bed and Clint watched the food in the pantry dwindle down to basically nothing. He wanted nothing more than to have Natasha back so he could at least have someone to talk to, but he had almost convinced himself she was never coming back.

Most nights, he had nightmares about her not recognising him; sometimes, she even killed him, squeezing his throat tightly between her tiny hands, her blank eyes never leaving his face. He could scream at her all he wanted and she didn't do anything. He told himself he wasn't scared of her, that it was just a stupid dream, but there was a part of him that didn't believe it.

Despite it all, wherever she was and whatever she was doing, he just hoped she was okay.

* * *

It was the first day of Spring break and Clint was already bored.

He took his bow and arrows down to the little hut and practised there for a while before moving onto the boxing bag. The mid-morning sun was hot, though, so it wasn't long before he was dragging his feet back to the house for a drink.

Edith was hanging washing, and there was even a fresh loaf of bread on the kitchen counter. He made himself a peanut butter sandwich and took it back outside with a glass of juice to eat on the front porch. He kind of wanted to go for a bike ride and thought about asking Barney to come with him. It had been a while since they had hung out together, mainly because Barney was going through a phase where it wasn't cool to be seen out with his younger brother.

He took a bite of the sandwich and wished they had had jelly in the fridge to go with it. It was only as he reached for the juice that he realised he wasn't alone on the porch.

"Hey," he said to the figure curled up on the chair in the corner. He slowly moved his hand back to lie in his lap, staying as still as possible. "What's up, Tash?"

Natasha blinked at him. She had her knees curled up to her chest, chin resting on top of them, and she looked smaller than Clint had ever seen her. He didn't even know how long she had been there for. He could have walked right past her through the front door and not even realised.

There was a moment of tense silence. Clint wanted to jump up and scream in happiness because his best friend was finally back, but he thought it would be a pretty bad idea considering Natasha looked pretty scared. This was the moment he had been waiting months for and even though it wasn't going how he expected, he couldn't be happier.

"Hi" Natasha said eventually. Her voice was huskier and her accent thicker than he remembered. She bit her lip and started rubbing her left arm frantically, the movements stiff and frenzied. "You are real."

Clint couldn't tell if she was asking him, but he decided to answer anyway. "Yep. I'm real. You can come hit me if you wanna see for yourself."

"I think…" Natasha started, her voice cracking. "I think you are fake memory. For trick. Is this trick?"

Clint felt his happiness evaporate in a second. His heart began to pound as he stared back at Natasha, watching her blink rapidly. She stopped rubbing her arm and instead slapped the side of her head, hard. Clint winced and stood suddenly, surprising both her and himself.

"It's not a trick," Clint said as steadily as he could. He stretched out his hand towards her. "Come over here and you'll see for sure."

Natasha didn't move. Clint wiggled his fingers at her, then glanced down and saw his discarded peanut butter sandwich. He bent down and picked up half of it, holding that out to her instead.

"_Pozhaluysta,_ Natasha," Clint pleaded. "I have this sandwich for you. We can go for a walk, or just sit here. But you gotta come over."

Natasha seemed to snap out of whatever trance she had been in, because she unfolded her legs from the chair and came hesitantly over to him. He hated the look on her face, like she almost expected him to push her away. He passed her the sandwich and turned his back to her, jumping down the porch steps away from her. He let out a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

This was bad. Clint had wanted his best friend back, but not like this. Natasha had been happy and funny the last time he had seen her, and looking at it now he probably shouldn't have expected her to be that way when she came back. It was easier to forget, sometimes, that they didn't really have normal lives.

He didn't hear Natasha follow him as he made his way down the gravel road, towards the woods and the hut. He could see her shadow on the ground beside his, and when he looked back he saw her hungrily eating the sandwich, her eyes wide. She was thinner than Clint remembered, too, but also a little more muscular. It was a disconcerting sight to see on a ten year old.

They walked to the hut in silence. Clint had to fight the urge to sign something to Natasha, unsure if she would even remember the language. He wanted to fill her in on everything she had missed, too, like how he had punched one of the bullies at school. He had waited months already, so another day wasn't going to kill him.

He sat on the grass in the clearing and she surprised him by folding herself down across from him. She looked tired, he realised sadly. She simultaneously looked like the Natasha he knew and someone he had never met before.

"Do you remember me?" he started carefully. He couldn't sit still, so started to pluck the grass by his foot.

Natasha sighed. "_Da_. I think was fake for so long. But now I see. You are real."

"Yep," Clint said. "What happened over there?"

"Training," Natasha said softly. He watched her lips carefully, not wanting to miss any words that she said. "I fight. I am best student. Uncle Ivan was happy. Then they take things away. Put new things in."

Clint still wasn't sure he understood what she was talking about, even though she had explained the memory stuff in the past. It was a lot to wrap his head around. He stopped plucking the grass and rubbed a hand over his face. "What kinda stuff?"

_I remember dancing in the ballet,_ Natasha signed, and Clint couldn't help the huge grin that spread over his face. She remembered ASL and it was the best feeling in the world. _I have been dancing for years. I train almost every day. I am one of twenty-eight…_

She paused, staring at her hands. Then she clenched them into fists to stop the shaking.

_Didn't know you could dance_, Clint signed without thinking. It clicked a second later that maybe that memory wasn't real in reality. Maybe it was just real for her.

_I think they added it_, she admitted. _But my body knows what to do. I think they took you away, because there were holes and I didn't know how to get past them. But I kept trying and you came back. There are still missing pieces._

_You can ask me anything_, Clint said. _Anything you want to know. I'll remember for you_.

Natasha dropped her hands to her lap and closed her eyes. "One of twenty-eight Black Widows. One of twenty-eight dancers. What is real?"

Clint didn't know what a Black Widow was. He thought he had probably heard the words before at school, but it didn't make sense in this conversation. Although he had to admit that not a whole lot was making sense in this conversation.

"You're Tash, you're real," Clint said gently. "You know like three languages and you really like sour worms. And, uh, also, you taught me how to fight. And you're teaching me Russian, but I'm pretty rusty. You're a fast runner and you punched Clarissa Rydell in the nose."

Natasha opened her eyes and looked at him, a small, sad smile on her face. Clint wanted to know exactly what had happened to her over there, but he thought he might never find out. She had been hurt, and now she was scared, but she was back and sitting in front of him. Real.

"You're my best friend," Clint said, speaking and signing to get the point across. "And I'm your best friend."

Natasha nodded, her smile a little more sincere now. She spat into her palm and reached out for him, so he spat in his own palm and met her halfway. Her hand was tiny and cold in his, but her grip could've broken his fingers if she tried hard enough.

"Okay," she said. "You tell me everything, Clint."

Clint grinned like mad and flopped down onto his back under the sun. A second later Natasha joined him, her curls fanning out around her head in a halo of red. Their shoulders just touched, enough to keep them grounded.

The day spread out before them, long and hot. Clint was in no rush anymore. Besides, they had a lot to catch up on.


	9. Chapter Nine

hope you enjoy! please review x

* * *

**April**

Clint tiptoed down the hall, back pressed against the wall as he paused by the lounge. He could feel Natasha just behind him, though he couldn't hear her footsteps. He couldn't even hear his own steps over the sound of the TV, which was blasting a song he had never heard before.

Natasha tugged on his shirt. _Can you see?_

He cautiously peeked his head around the edge of the doorframe and almost burst into laughter. He slapped a hand over his mouth before he gave their position away and instead moved aside so Natasha could look too.

Barney was in front of the TV, shirtless and with a bandana wrapped around his head. He was dancing to the music video of the song and singing along in the worst pitch that Clint had ever heard. He peered back over Natasha's shoulder to watch as Barney finished the dance with an air guitar solo, jumping into the air as the final note sounded.

Clint couldn't hold the laughter in anymore. Barney spun around, eyes wide, and Clint didn't give him a chance to say anything. He grabbed Natasha and they ran as fast as they could back down the hall and into the safety of Clint's bedroom.

"Clinton!" Barney yelled as the bedroom door slammed in his face. He pounded on the door and Clint pushed all his weight against it, trying to stop him from entering. "When you come out I'm gonna get you so bad!"

Natasha was giggling like mad, hands pressed into her sides as she doubled over. Barney banged on the door a couple more times before leaving, and Clint slid down to sit on the floor, panting and grinning.

"You see – you see him shake?" Natasha gasped, and then burst into laughter again. She wiggled her hips in an exaggerated example of Barney's dance moves.

"Oh my god" Clint snickered, rubbing the tears from his eyes. "I never knew Barney could move like _that_."

"He almost better than me," Natasha said. She moved to drop down beside him and they sat together until the last of Natasha's giggles faded away.

Natasha's laugh was a nice sound, Clint decided. She had turned up at his house in the morning looking a little lost, so Clint had stuck a bandaid over the pinprick in the crook of her arm and invited her to spend the day with him. She had been warming up all morning, though Clint could still tell that there was something missing.

When Natasha was feeling good, she was fierce and bright and a little sassy. But on days like today she was reserved, quiet and – much to Clint's horror – _obedient_.

He could tell her to do anything and she would follow the order blindly. Clint was used to a little resistance with Natasha, especially on some of his crazier ideas like jumping out of the tallest tree he could find. She was never scared of his ideas; her sense of self-preservation was just much stronger. But on days like today, he could tell her to kiss a poisonous frog and she would do it without hesitation.

It was just another new thing they were getting used to. Clint had started to keep a journal of little facts that Natasha could flip through when she was feeling foggy, and they were both working on telling the truth more often. It was small steps in the right direction. Clint hoped that they wouldn't have to be doing it for much longer.

Natasha dropped her head onto his shoulder and sighed. She was fiddling with her fingers, a habit Clint had noticed she'd picked up recently. He liked that one better than the one where she hit herself, or scratched down her arms. In the month since she had been back, he had stopped her on more than one occasion from hurting herself, though she never told him why she tried.

"What do ya wanna do now?" he asked.

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever."

Clint could tell she was regressing. He tugged on one of the braids that hung over her shoulder. "Do you do your hair?"

"_Da_," she responded, and reached up to smooth down the stray bits on top of her head. "Well, mostly."

"I can do braids," Clint admitted, mainly to take his mind off Ivan touching her hair. "I learnt in the circus how to do a bunch of cool things with rope. I s'pose it's not much different with hair."

"With my hair, is very different" Natasha said. "Lots of curls. You try one day."

"I like it" Clint said and felt heat rise to his cheeks. "Ugh, that reminds me. Mum wants me to get a haircut this afternoon."

Natasha moved her head off his shoulder and turned to face him properly, eyes scrunched as she examined his hair. "Is not so long."

"That's what I said!" Clint moaned. "Oh well. You wanna come to the mall with us?"

Natasha smiled, no teeth, and Clint almost expected her to say no. "Uncle Ivan out again. He think I stay chained to bed, but is easy to leave. I come to mall."

Clint raised his eyebrows. Being chained to the bed was a new development he hadn't heard of before. Natasha must have noticed the look on his face, because she moved away a little and made herself look smaller.

_It's just another part of training_, she signed. _The needle is supposed to make me want to stay there all day, but I'm getting better at fighting it. And the handcuffs are easy to pick_.

Clint's stomach rolled with unease at the casual way Natasha was talking about being handcuffed to her bed. He had never been to her house and after hearing that was pretty sure he never wanted to. But he was also just glad that she had told him, unprompted.

_It's okay, Clint_, she assured him. _He doesn't know it's not working._

_Okay_, Clint signed back. _Let's make lunch before we go_.

Natasha looked relieved at the change of topic and stood in one fluid motion, holding her hand out to pull Clint up. After checking that the coast was clear in the hall and that Barney wasn't waiting to attack them, they made their way to the kitchen for lunch. As he got the bread out he tried not to think about her being held hostage in her own home and instead focused all his energy on trying to get Natasha to laugh again.

* * *

"Aw, hair, no" Clint groaned as he passed by a store window and caught sight of his hair. The hairdresser had cut it short and styled it with gel so that the ends were spiked up, and it felt all kinds of uncomfortable. Plus, he always had to take his hearing aids out so they could trim around his ears, and the skin was usually irritated when he put them back in.

Natasha bumped her shoulder against his. "Is not so bad. Is new trend."

Clint kind of hated the hairdresser for teaching Natasha about trends, and he kind of hated that she had had to sit with him the entire time whilst Edith went to withdraw some cash.

"It is," he complained, running his hand through the sticky spikes. "It is _the worst_."

Natasha snorted. She had really perked up after lunch and was completely enthralled by the mall, stopping Clint at almost every store to look at the displays in the window. Clint thought it might also have had something to do with what she had eaten for lunch; after shovelling two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into her mouth, she had eaten half a bag of sour worms and four chocolate chip cookies. Clint hadn't been able to keep up with her sweet tooth, but they were both suffering the effects of a sugar high now.

_Bathroom?_ Natasha signed as they weaved their way between people. The mall was still fairly busy, even though it was getting later into the afternoon.

"Mum, we gotta go to the toilet," Clint said.

Edith nodded and pointed the sign out to them. "Just down there. Stick together, please." She was looking in the window of the jewellery store, staring at a necklace that Clint knew she had wanted for a long time but couldn't afford. "I'll wait here."

Clint was finished before Natasha, so he stood just outside the toilet doors to wait. He watched the crowd, already tired of the constant noise. There was a toy store nearby, and he could see a bunch of kids from school hanging out by the door. Clarissa Rydell noticed him and turned away quickly, which made all the boys look up.

He averted his gaze so it didn't look like he was staring and willed Natasha to hurry up. He told himself it was way too busy for any of them to try anything, but he also knew that ever since Natasha had punched Clarissa her posse of friends had been planning revenge.

Natasha stopped beside him, wiping her hands on her shirt. She saw the kids too and glared at them, clenching her hands.

"Not worth it" Clint grumbled, and pulled her by the elbow to go back to his mum.

Edith was still in the jewellery store. Natasha and Clint wandered around peering into the cases before they quickly grew bored. Natasha was jumpy again, glancing out the door as though she expected someone to come in and grab her. Clint couldn't blame her. He felt a little uneasy seeing the kids too, but at least he knew that public places usually didn't equal a fight.

_Want to go to the toy store?_ Clint signed.

Natasha nodded, her eyes lighting up. Clint went over to his mum to ask, scuffing his foot against the floor while he waited for her to finish talking. Natasha mimed yawning and falling asleep, making Clint laugh and interrupting his mum's conversation with the sales lady.

"Can we please go to the toy store?" he asked, putting on his sweetest smile. "We'll stay right there, promise!"

Edith shook her head, glancing between him and Natasha, who was also smiling her best smile. "You two are trouble. Here." She reached into her purse and pulled out $20, holding it out to Clint. "Split it between you."

"Mum, nah, you don't have to do that," Clint said, suddenly feeling bad. They couldn't afford groceries some weeks, and he didn't expect his mum to just hand out money. The boxing bag he had been given for his birthday was second hand and even then, Edith had been saving for months.

"You've both been really great today" she said, and pushed the bill into Clint's hand. "Just go. Have fun."

Clint couldn't really believe it, but he wasn't going to argue a second time. He held the money tightly in his hand as he and Natasha made their way to the toy store in silence. He knew exactly what he wanted to buy with his half of the money and really hoped they had it in stock.

The group of kids had left, to which he was grateful. He wasn't in the mood to deal with their teasing, and he was more than convinced that Natasha was in a fighting mood today. He didn't know what would happen if she got into a fight when she was having a bad day; he wasn't sure he would be able to stop her from doing serious damage.

Once they entered the store, Clint left Natasha to look around while he went straight to the action figure section. He already had a couple of second hand G.I Joe figures at home, but he really wanted an army truck to go with them. The whole range was on special, so Clint had enough for another figurine, too.

A figurine with flaming red hair was shoved behind some of the others. Clint pulled her out and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that she came with a bow and arrow. The figurine reminded him a bit of Natasha, but the box said her name was Scarlett. Clint didn't care; he took that and the army tuck and started to look for Natasha.

He found her standing in the aisle full of stuffed animals. She had her arms around her stomach again, and she was biting her lip as she stared at all of the toys. She looked overwhelmed.

"Look what I found." Clint showed her the doll and the truck, pointing out all the cool features that they came with.

"Nice," Natasha said, grinning. She turned back to the toys and sighed. "You use all of money. Is not something I need."

Clint frowned. "Nah, mum said we had to split it. There's gotta be something you want somewhere in this whole store."

"I never had toy," Natasha said. "Only good girls have toy."

"You're good, Tash" Clint said firmly. He pointed out a plush striped tiger toy. "Feel that one, it looks super soft."

Natasha tentatively unfolded her arms from around herself and stroked a finger over the toy's fur. She smiled at him, as though looking for approval, then moved down the aisle a little more, touching all of the toys as she went.

Clint felt bad again. Every kid needed toys. Even in the circus, him and Barney had had the G.I Joe figurines and a bunch of plastic cars that they could race around the Big Top. Sometimes they even made armour out of old boxes, and would play dual with foam swords.

Natasha had found another doll that looked a lot like her. It was soft, with big green eyes and red hair tied in two pigtails. She was just staring at it, not moving or touching anything. Clint couldn't even tell if she was breathing, so he went over and grabbed the doll off the shelf for her.

"This what you want?" he asked softly.

Natasha nodded, letting out a long breath, and took the doll from him. She held it awkwardly at first, but as they made their way to the counter to pay she relaxed. They set the toys up and Clint paid the man, who put everything into one bag for them.

He could feel himself growing tired as they met with Edith again. He answered all of her questions about the new toys on autopilot, and barely even realised they were back in the car until it had started and he had to scramble to put his seat belt on.

Natasha had her doll on her lap, one arm curled around it protectively as she stared out the window. Clint nudged her with his foot until she turned to him.

_You're gonna have to think of a name_, he signed, and at her confused expression elaborated: _For the doll_. _Or we could call it mini-Natasha._

_What about Y-U-L-I-A?_ She replied, and then shrugged. _I knew a girl named Yulia once. _

_That's a nice name, _Clint said.

They sat in silence for the rest of the trip home, until they reached Natasha's house. Edith stopped the car in the driveway and turned in her seat to say goodbye. "Thanks for coming with us today, Natasha. Is your uncle home?"

"_Da_," Natasha said. "Yes, he is. Thank you to take me. I have fun."

"I'm glad, sweetie" Edith said. "You're welcome anytime."

Natasha nodded and unbuckled her belt. Clint knew that her uncle wouldn't be home, and now that he also knew she would be going back in to chain herself to the bed, he didn't want to let her go.

She placed Yulia on the floor of the car where Edith couldn't see and turned to Clint before she got out of the car. _You keep her safe for me. Uncle Ivan will not let me keep her_.

_Of course_, he said. _Anything for you_.

She smiled and got out of the car. Edith waited until she was inside the house before pulling away, meeting Clint's eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm really glad you made such a good friend, Clint," she said earnestly. "Natasha is a nice girl."

"Yea," Clint agreed, but his heart was heavy. He grabbed Yulia off the ground and brushed some dirt off her face. The resemblance was uncanny. At least he could pretend that looking after the doll was helping Natasha.

He sighed and put the doll on his lap. It would have to do for now.


	10. Chapter Ten

drop a review if you like this chapter! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**May**

"Do you like dogs or cats more?"

They were waiting in line at the petting zoo with the other kids from their classes. It was the last day of school, and a bunch of activities had been organised to celebrate. The sun was hot, and the teachers had decided to finish classes early and spend the last hour of school outside having fun.

Clint had dragged Natasha over to the petting zoo after she had admitted she had never seen most of the animals listed. Now that they were closer to the enclosure, Clint could smell the sheep and pigs. It reminded him a little of the smells of the circus, and he breathed it in deeply.

"Cats" Natasha answered him.

"I like dogs" Clint said. "You're lucky I like cats, too, or this could be a deal breaker."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and smiled. "Dogs are okay. They are big. They bite."

"Not all dogs," Clint whined. "When I grow up, I'm gonna have a really nice dog that can do tricks. He's gonna be super smart, just you wait."

"I have cat" Natasha smirked, taking another step forward in the line. "She be too good for your dog. _Will_ be too good."

"Whatever," Clint mumbled, but he was smiling too. "I'm gonna have a house with a room just for my dog, and your cat can't go in there."

"Well, I have room too, for cat," Natasha responded quickly. "And house has yellow walls, and mirror for ballet. And big space for fighting. And handstands."

"It's gotta be a two-storey house though" Clint told her. "So I can sit up high and look out at everything. Also, it's gotta have a target for my archery, and a swing too."

"I never go on swing," Natasha admitted. They were next in line now, and Clint was feeling sticky from the heat of the sun. Natasha's shoulders were starting to turn pink.

"When we have a house with a swing, you'll get to have a go," Clint said. He realised a second later that they were talking about their future as though they were going to be living together. The thought shocked him momentarily. He couldn't be sure if Natasha had even understood what they were really talking about.

But from the way she was looking at him, Clint could assume that she understood every word.

"No one hurt us there" she said softly, her smile sad now.

Clint nodded, feeling hot tears prick at his eyes. He coughed and looked away, trying to get his emotions under control.

The lady at the petting zoo ushered them in through the gate before he could reply. Inside the enclosure there were piglets, lambs and chickens running around everywhere. They also had a separate area set up with rabbits, and were handing out little bags of pellets to feed the animals.

Beside him, Natasha had frozen. She had her eyes fixed on a piglet, which was slowly snuffling its way towards them.

"Here, look" Clint said, and crouched down on the ground. He held his hand out and the piglet came over, sniffing around his fingers for food. "C'mon, it's a pig. They're cool."

Natasha hesitantly knelt beside him and very carefully stroked a hand over the piglets back. "Is different to what I think."

Clint laughed at the look on her face and went over to get them a bag of food. When he came back, Natasha was surrounded by chickens and looked absolutely terrified. Every time she tried to take a step away from them they huddled around her feet, blocking her way.

"Didn't think chickens would be your weakness" Clint teased as he shooed the animals away.

"Is not" Natasha huffed. She took a handful of food and scattered it on the ground, dusting her palm off on her overalls. The chickens ran away after it and she made her escape.

Clint let her wander off and went to sit with the lambs. He was excited for the holidays; Barney had promised to take him to the cinema at least once, and he was pretty sure his dad would be out of town for most of the time. He was going to practise his Russian with Natasha, and see if she had any new fighting moves up her sleeves. He wanted to ask his mum if Natasha could have a real sleepover, too.

The lady called them all out so the next group of kids could come in. Clint waited for Natasha to put her rabbit back and the two of them started off towards the next activity. Clint was bursting with excitement, and he could see that it was starting to rub off on Natasha as well.

"What next?" she asked, skipping along beside him. Her hair, which was usually tightly braided or wound in a high bun, was loose around her face and sweaty at her hairline. She brushed the strands out of her eyes and grinned at him, bold and bright.

"Uh, jumping castle?" Clint suggested.

He saw what was going to happen next a second too late; a foot shot out in front of him and he didn't have time to avoid it before he was tripping. He caught himself on the ground before he landed face first and felt the sharp twinge in his weaker wrist. He stayed there for a moment, waiting for his heart to stop pounding, then glanced up at the perpetrator.

It was a boy named Ryan, one of Clarissa's new goons. Ever since Natasha had punched her last year, she had been slowly building up her group of friends so that she was always surrounded. Clint thought it was pretty pathetic, but also kind of awesome that she was still so scared of Natasha.

Ryan had always bullied Clint, so it was no surprise that he had been the one to push first. Clint tried to breathe deeply to control his anger, but he was embarrassed. No one had really seen what had happened, too preoccupied with all of the activities, but Clarissa and her friends were laughing loudly.

There was no warning this time before Natasha leaped at them. Clint saw her move straight for Clarissa, and watched as she grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her down to the ground. Someone shouted something that Clint couldn't make out, and then he jumped up too and grabbed Ryan by the arm. He was tired of being pushed around.

Natasha was fast, and a lot more brutal than she had been the first time she'd gotten into a fight. Clint felt the adrenaline course through his body as he pulled his fist back to punch Ryan in the face. The girls were screaming, and a teacher was trying to yank Natasha off Clarissa. Clint shoved Ryan hard in the chest and the boy fell over, winded.

He put his hands up after that. Natasha had been extracted from Clarissa and was panting beside him, her nose a little bloody. Looking at her, Clint could tell that fighting probably hadn't helped her fragile mental state. Her eyes were glassy, her hands shaking.

"What on Earth?" Miss Breslow cried, and Clint did feel a little bad that she had seen what happened. "You two, come with me."

Clint had to pull Natasha along behind him at first. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off his wrist hurt and he felt tired. Natasha knocked her shoulder against his, and to his surprise she was actually _smiling_.

_That was a good punch_, she signed, and Clint couldn't help the feeling of pride that bloomed in his chest.

Miss Breslow sat them both in her office and leant back in her chair, arms folded over her chest. Clint swung his feet and looked anywhere but her face. Natasha wiped her hand across her nose and smeared blood over her cheek. Clint thought she looked pretty badass.

"Which one of you wants to explain what just happened?" Miss Breslow began.

Natasha surprised him by speaking up first. "Was self-defence. Idiot boy trip Clint."

"We don't call people names," Miss Breslow said. "Is this true, Clint?"

"I guess," Clint mumbled, feeling embarrassed again. "They pick on me a lot."

"Okay," Miss Breslow sighed and uncrossed her arms to rub her temples. "Violence isn't the answer though. We shouldn't hit people at school, or anywhere."

Natasha looked confused but nodded along with Clint. He couldn't imagine that she had ever been told that fighting was bad. For her, fighting was like breathing. Necessary for survival.

"You guys are going to get a detention when the new school year starts," Miss Breslow explained. "The boy who tripped you will, too, but you're going to have to apologise first. I need to call your parents, now, so hang tight for a second."

As the door closed behind her, Clint let his forehead fall onto the desk with a loud thud. His mum was going to be so mad, he could already picture the disappointment on her face. Fighting back seemed like a good idea until he had to deal with the aftermath. He was so stupid to think that it had been a good idea to push back at school. Obviously, he hadn't learnt from the first time.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid" he muttered, smacking his head against the desk with each word. He glanced over at Natasha, who was inspecting her grazed knuckles idly. "How'd you ever convince me that fighting was a good idea?"

"You ask me to teach you," she said simply. "Is not my fault what you do with it."

Clint groaned and wished he could get away with switching his hearing aids off. He didn't really want to hear logic from Natasha right now.

"I not want you involved," Natasha said.

"Well, you kinda dragged me into this whole thing" Clint muttered before he could stop himself. He wasn't mad at Natasha, just annoyed that he had let his feelings get the better of him when he had promised his mum he wouldn't fight at school again.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "_Nyet_. You make me."

She was right, of course. Clint groaned again and slumped back into his chair. Natasha seemed to be doing surprisingly well, considering. Clint had thought that the fight would turn her into the robotic, foggy Natasha he was growing used to, but if anything she was actually more alert now than she had been all day.

Miss Breslow re-entered the room, and Clint felt his stomach drop as he saw who she was leading behind her. Ivan was wearing thin wire glasses, and a cap covered his shiny head. He looked a lot more like a normal parent, standing in the office and looking between the two of them in exasperation.

"I apologise again for Natalia's behaviour" he said to Miss Breslow. His accent was thicker than Clint remembered, and his voice much softer. He seemed strangely weak, and Miss Breslow was falling for every inch of his act. "She's still adjusting to all of this."

"I shouldn't tell you this, but she was defending her friend" Miss Breslow said, and Clint wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Ivan turned his dark eyes to Clint but only smiled and nodded.

Natasha was sitting straight-backed in her chair, staring ahead at the wall. Clint felt anxiety pool in his stomach. This wasn't a good situation for them to be in. Natasha's expression told him just how bad it was.

"Honourable," Ivan said, and chuckled quietly. "I'll get them out of your hair. Thank you for calling. And again, my apologies."

Clint didn't understand that he was also going with Ivan until Miss Breslow ushered him out the door. Natasha walked stiffly beside him, her breathing a little ragged. Ivan led them in silence to his car, and then held the door open for both of them to crawl into the back.

"Who is your friend?" Ivan asked once they were leaving the school grounds. Clint considered throwing himself out of the car. This was not where he wanted to be.

"Barney" Natasha said, her voice strangely flat. Clint didn't know why she had to lie but wasn't about to ask.

"Nice to meet you," he said carefully. He felt dangerously close to throwing up now. Why had Miss Breslow let Ivan take him?

As if he knew what Clint was thinking, Ivan's cold eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. "It's lucky we live on the same street, Barney. The staff could not contact your mother."

"Oh" he squeaked. He chanced a glance at Natasha but she was looking straight ahead again, her face pale.

"Any friend of Natalia's is a friend of mine," Ivan said. "Though fighting at school, Natalia…"

"_Izvinite_," Natasha murmured. "_Ya byla neposlushna_."

Ivan said something else in Russian that Clint couldn't quite hear, but it made Natasha curl her shoulders in on herself. Clint wanted to sign something to her, ask if she was okay, but he felt it might give something away that Ivan didn't need to know.

"Here we are" Ivan said, and Clint had never been happier to see his rundown old house in all of his life. He took off his seatbelt carefully and opened the door, not wanting to look too eager.

"Thanks" he said, only because his mum had taught him manners and he already felt bad enough about letting her down.

"Anytime, Barney," Ivan said. He took off the glasses and threw them on the floor of the car, then did the same with the cap. Clint gulped unconsciously. "Enjoy your vacation. Maybe try to avoid fighting until you know what you are doing, hmm?"

"Yes sir" Clint said. Natasha didn't even look at him as he shut the door.

He watched the car drive down the road and let out a huge breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. That hadn't been as bad as Clint had expected, but then again, his nerves were shot and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to eat dinner.

It wasn't the start to vacation that he had anticipated. He just hoped Natasha would be okay.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Clint winced as he forced himself up into a sitting position, gingerly brushing his fingers over the tender flesh around his ribs. He didn't have to look to know that the bruising would be really coming out now; it was always worse a couple of days after.

He got dressed slowly, his limbs stiff and his head sore. Edith had checked on him in the night, and had left a glass of water and a painkiller on his bedside table. He ignored both as he put his hearing aids in and waited as the world came slowly to life around him.

In the kitchen, Harold and Barney were talking around mouthfuls of sausage and eggs. Clint's place at the table was set too, but he wasn't hungry. He sat anyway, more worried about his dad's reaction if he skipped breakfast than anything else.

Edith set a plate of food in front of him but didn't greet him. Clint supposed his dad had probably yelled at his mum for not disciplining Clint after the fight at school. Harold hadn't meant to be at home for the first few weeks of vacation, but a job in another state had fallen through and when Clint had walked inside after the last day of school, Harold had been five beers into a football game and angry.

Clint had almost got away with it, but Edith received a letter from the school two days later and he had had to explain himself. His dad had been day drunk, and when Edith had told him what Clint had done, he had flown into a violent rage. Clint didn't remember much of that night, but the bruises on his body were evidence enough. He didn't think his dad would care about a stupid school fight. If anything, he had thought that Harold would support it.

But when it came to his dad he was often wrong, and Clint supposed that Harold was just looking for an excuse to throw him around. Not that he usually needed one.

He kept his head down as he chewed mechanically on his eggs. His stomach churned and his head throbbed. He hadn't seen the state of his face, but could just tell that his left eye was bruised from the pain that was shooting down that side of his face. It was a good thing he was on vacation, or he would have to start stealing his mum's foundation again.

Harold pushed his chair away from the table and Clint flinched, the sound sharp in his ears. He tensed as his dad walked past him to put his place in the sink. Out of the corner of his eye Clint watched as his dad kissed his mum, then quickly looked ahead again as Harold stopped by his chair.

He slapped Clint hard on the back, and then rested his hand heavily on Clint's shoulder. "You better be good, or I'll ring your neck next time. Understood?"

His breath was hot on Clint's cheek. He tried to keep his own breathing under control as he stared ahead, not daring to move a muscle except to answer his father. "Yes sir."

"Good boy," Harold said, and slapped Clint's back again. He left the house without a backwards glance, and Clint watched out the window as his car took off down the dirt road, out of sight.

He relaxed marginally and pushed the rest of his breakfast away. His heart was hammering in his chest, making breathing painful. He felt anxiety begin to bubble beneath his skin and willed himself to calm down. Freaking out in front of his mum and Barney was not something that he wanted to do.

"Okay?" Edith asked gently, taking his plate.

Clint didn't really want to speak to her. He just nodded and pushed himself away from the table, all but running out the front door. He took off down the road, gaining speed until he was sprinting, his ribs screaming in protest. He could barely breathe, could barely see past the tears in his eyes, and didn't even realise where he was until he collapsed on the soft grass in the clearing with the tiny hut.

He stayed on his knees for a while, gulping in deep breaths of air and pushing his hands into the ground. His head was spinning, and he felt a little like being sick. It frustrated him, to realise the impact his father had on him; how scared Clint was of him, and how little control he had over the situation. It made him feel pathetic and weak.

A hand rested gently on Clint's arm, but the feeling of it still made him cringe away. He balled his own hands into fists and pushed them against his eyes, trying to force the tears back in. He was okay, he told himself. He could breathe, it would be fine.

"Hi," he heard a familiar voice say to him, close to his ear. "Is okay."

"S'not" Clint muttered, his voice shaky. He moved his hands away and opened his eyes to see Natasha right in front of him. "It's stupid."

Natasha shrugged and sat back, giving him some space. Clint blinked the last of the tears out of his eyes and looked at her properly. There were dark circles under her eyes, and an assortment of bruises and scabs covered the parts of her legs that he could see. His immediate reaction was relief, because he wasn't alone in this. Then he felt disgust that this was normal for them. Disgust that he could feel relief in the first place.

"Sorry" he said after a beat.

"Is not stupid," Natasha said carefully. "I am scared too."

"I thought learning to fight would make it better" Clint admitted. "Like, it would make me stronger."

"You are strong enough" Natasha said firmly. "How many time you are strong for me?"

Clint shrugged and carefully straightened. His whole body ached now, though it wasn't the worst pain he had ever experienced. His bow would probably be out of action for a little while, as well as the boxing bag. He couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. He was just _tired_.

"My dad wasn't very happy about the fight at school," Clint said.

"Uncle Ivan too" Natasha said. She held out one of her arms, pointing out three little red marks clustered together. "Lots of needles. Was hard to wake up."

"Damn" Clint said, examining the marks. He looked up her arm to her shoulder and found the same types of scabs he had seen on her legs. "What's that from?"

"Cigarette" Natasha said nonchalantly. "Is… is training? Maybe he is just angry. I don't know."

Clint nodded. "My stomach is basically all black. Okay, not _all_ of it, but it's pretty sore."

They fell into silence, just looking at each other. Clint felt surprisingly calm, even though Natasha's injuries were pretty horrific. She was right, though. They were both strong, to be sitting there together and breathing. Knowing he wasn't alone made it a little better, too.

_I have to go back to Russia_, Natasha signed. _Not right now, but probably around Christmas again. I think it will be different this time._

Clint had expected it, but it still sucked. _What's different?_

_You_, Natasha said, smiling a little. It didn't reach her eyes. _Now that Uncle Ivan knows I have a friend, he won't let me keep you. _

It was an Earth-shattering thought. Last year, Clint would have panicked, and he still did a little now. But he knew Natasha, and he had faith in their friendship. He had pulled her back from the edge before; he was positive he would be able to do it again.

_You couldn't forget me_ he teased. _I'm too handsome_.

Natasha snorted. _You're too annoying_.

Clint laughed, and then carefully lowered himself down to lie on the ground. The grass was soft against his back and the sun warm on his face. Natasha curled into his side, resting her chin on his chest and pulling a face at him to make him laugh again. He ruffled her perfect hair, tugging the tie off the bun and watching it fall down around her shoulders.

"You know I try hardest," Natasha said softly. "_My _hardest. To always remember this."

"I know" Clint replied, and smiled. "Plus, Christmas is so far away. We have all the time in the world to come up with a plan before then."

_You need to tell me when you're not okay too_, Natasha signed. _I want to help you_.

_I will, _Clint said, and meant it. _Right now, I could be better. But it's not so bad here._

Natasha's eyes shifted over to the hut, which was still incomplete after all this time. She chewed her lip, as though she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to phrase it. Clint waited, giving her time to decide if she was ready, even though he really wanted to know whatever it was that she knew.

_Uncle Ivan built that_, she said eventually. _I had to help. Sometimes he leaves me in there at night._

_Next time that happens, come to my house,_ Clint said. _You can stay in my room, in secret. Then come back in the morning._

_I'll try,_ Natasha said. Clint could tell that she wasn't telling the whole truth, but he was pretty happy with what she had given him.

Natasha let her head fall onto his chest properly then. When he looked up at the sky everything was golden, tinged by the strands of her hair. Years later, this would be what he remembered the most when he thought about his childhood; the days long and hot and bright red, Natasha's small body beside him; the ache in his bones, the weight of knowing that everything could change in a second.

But for now, all he knew was the feeling of having a friend, and it was enough.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**our poor kids :( hope you enjoy, and please review!**

* * *

**Iowa, 2001**

**March**

As far as years went, 2000 hadn't been Clint's worst. There had been some pretty hard moments, but the good far outweighed the bad in the end.

He had spent summer vacation with Natasha, climbing trees and being kids. For her eleventh birthday in November he took all of his pocket money and bought her _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. _She had painstakingly read the first two at school, but the library hadn't updated since and she had been dying to get her hands on the third book for months.

The smile on her face had been worth every cent, even though she barely had time to read any of it before she was shipped off to Russia again. It didn't make sense to Clint, pulling her out of school for a couple of months instead of just taking her during summer vacation, but she hadn't really known why Ivan did it either.

Clint had thought that the school wouldn't allow Natasha to leave in the months that she did in case she fell behind. Whatever Ivan was doing to keep them happy was working, though. Last time, she had been right on track when she got back and had barely had to make up any extra work.

He was a little more worried about her this time. He felt like they had dodged a bullet last year; things had been different when she came back, but ultimately she was still the same Natasha he knew. This time, Clint couldn't be sure that the Natasha that came back would be familiar. He had a lot of hope that everything would be okay. It was the only thing getting him through the long weeks without her.

They day he turned twelve was mild and boring. Edith bought a cheap, stale cake from the store and they each had a small slice. There was no money for presents this year, and Harold was out of town again. Clint didn't care as much as he once might have.

When Spring break came around, Clint waited eagerly for Natasha on the gravel road. Last year, she had come back around the same time, so he figured it wouldn't be so different now. Except, as the few days of break dwindled away, Clint felt the last of his hope leave with them. Natasha wasn't back. She was probably _never _coming back.

He was angry on the next day of school, and made sure his mum and Barney knew it. He slammed doors, stomped and sulked through the house, and even delayed leaving for school by pretending to forget his hearing aids. Edith wasn't in the mood, and Clint could tell she was tired, but he was just upset and annoyed that Natasha wasn't back yet.

Still, he apologised to his mum as he left the house, backpack slung up over his shoulders. The morning was bright and breezy. Clint wanted to enjoy it but felt just a little too flat. He had really believed that Natasha would have been back by now; March would be over soon, and then it was only a few months until school was finished. It didn't make sense, and it frustrated him.

There was another person on the gravel road. Clint shielded his eyes against the sun with his hand, trying not to get his hopes up. The high bun on top of her head was a dead giveaway, though. He grinned, getting ready to shout out to her, when a sudden thought sent him crashing back to reality.

Natasha hadn't waited for him. Even though she was a fair distance ahead of him, he was absolutely positive that it was his best friend. Nobody else lived on this stretch of road, for starters. But they always walked together. Something was wrong.

Anxiety began to creep up Clint's throat. He fought it down and focused on keeping his breathing even as he rushed forward to catch up to her. The closer her got, the more he could see the subtle differences in the way she moved. Natasha was usually fluid, and she still was, but there was an edge to it he had never seen before.

"Hey, Natasha!" he called. She didn't stop walking and he jogged to close the distance between them. "Natasha, wait!"

Clint reached out to grab her shoulder. Before he had even made contact with her skin, she had turned around and grabbed his hand, bending his thumb back and sending him crashing to his knees.

He could tell immediately that the girl he was looking at wasn't the same girl that had left three months ago. Natasha's face was blank, no recognition in her eyes as she stared down at Clint. Fear gripped him from deep in his stomach. They had actually done it.

"What?" she hissed, letting go of his hand.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" Clint tried, still holding onto the little thread of hope he had that Natasha hadn't completely forgotten him. "I know I'm late but I was still coming. Plus you could've just knocked on the door."

Natasha blinked at him. Then, she turned and started to walk away again, her shoulders tense and back straight. Clint scrambled to his feet and fell into step beside her, trying to think of what he could do to help her remember.

"You're Natasha –"

"Natalia" she interrupted, her voice cold. "I don't know who you are, so please leave me alone."

Clint had never heard such a complete sentence come out of Natasha's mouth. It was more than perfect grammar, though; gone was her thick Russian accent, and in its place was a perfect American one. It sounded like she had lived here her whole life. Clint hated every part of it.

"You're Natasha, you know three languages" he tried again, ignoring the growing fear in his chest. "You like sour worms and peanut butter sandwiches. You taught me to fight. You have a doll called Yulia."

Natasha hesitated for just a second. Clint moved so that he was in front of her, walking backwards in time with her steps. He could see the confusion in her eyes that she was desperately trying to hide. It made him smile.

"C'mon, Tash" he pleaded. "_Pozhaluysta. _You know it all."

Her face went blank again. Clint felt his smile fade and he moved out of her way, walking beside her again. He tried to look at her arms, to see if there were any fresh needle pricks, but she was holding them too straight by her side.

"I don't know you" she repeated in that cold, perfectly accented voice he was coming to hate. "Leave me alone."

Clint was persistent, but they had reached the school grounds and Natasha marched off ahead of him before he could think of an excuse to distract her. Surrounded by other kids, he tried not to freak out too much, even though he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. The girl that he had just spoken to was wearing Natasha's face, but she wasn't Natasha.

It seemed surreal to him, that after all the times they had spoken about it happening, it had actually happened. He was only twelve; he didn't know how to deal with the fact that his best friend had been brain washed into forgetting him. He couldn't tell anyone. Even if he could, he didn't know who would believe him, or what they could possibly do to help.

He had all day to work on a solution. He took a deep, shaky breath, and made his way to his first class.

* * *

Lunch without Natasha was weird, but Clint had managed for the last three months. He spent the whole time brainstorming ideas on how to get Natasha to remember him, but he couldn't think of many. His best idea was just to annoy her into remembering, which he thought he would be pretty good at.

He waited at the school gates for her, but she had somehow managed to sneak past him. He caught a glimpse of her red hair stepping out onto the road, and then heard the squeal of tires as the car she had walked in front of slammed on the brakes, seconds from hitting her.

Clint shook his head and began to follow her. At least one thing hadn't changed: she still had absolutely no clue about road safety.

Natasha didn't even look at him as he joined her on the gravel road, but he could see her body tense. Clint felt quietly confident with his plan, even if it wasn't the most scientific solution.

"So, remember last year, when we got in that fight?" he started. "You totally showed her! Ugh, what was her name again? Claire?"

Clint glanced at her, but Natasha was looking straight ahead as though she couldn't hear him. He frowned and tried again.

"Nah, it wasn't that. Um… Clarissa! Yea, that's what it is! You got into a fight with Clarissa."

Natasha still didn't say anything. Up close, Clint could see that the dark circles under her eyes were still there, and that her lips were cracked and dry. There was also a new silver scar on the side of her temple that he had never seen before. He really wanted to ask her what had happened, but knew she wouldn't tell him even if she knew.

"Well, it was a good fight, even if you don't remember" Clint said.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Natasha said, her voice low. "I don't know you, and whatever you're trying to do here, it's not working."

"Clearly" Clint muttered to himself. "Here's the thing, Tash. You're my best friend, and sometimes you go back to Russia so the bad guys can mess with your head. They put fake things in and take memories out."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Natasha snapped.

"You told me," Clint said. "You told me everything, about how your uncle hurts you and you're training to be a spy. And I told you that my dad hurts me, too. We keep each others secrets."

"Liar" Natasha spat. "You don't know anything. _I_ will hurt you."

"You don't even speak like this" Clint cried, feeling his anger and frustration finally bubble over. "You don't have an American accent. It's weird and you need to stop it."

"I live here" Natasha deadpanned.

"But it doesn't matter" Clint said. "You didn't always live here. You don't know every English word because you're still learning. Can't you just stop it!"

"Leave me alone" she hissed, her voice venomous. "I don't know you."

Clint felt hot tears burn his eyes. He clenched his hands into fists and willed himself to calm down, but it was all too much. He had waited months for her to come back, and now she was back and everything was wrong. She had told him it would be different, but he hadn't really expected it. He didn't know what to do, he just wanted his best friend back so he could talk to her, so he wasn't alone –

"I hate you!" he yelled, though he wasn't really sure if it was directed at her. He was crying now, his voice cracking. It was equal parts emotions and hormones, and it made him even angrier that his body would betray him.

"Then leave me alone!" Natasha shouted back. It was the first time he had seen real emotion on her face all day, except for the brief seconds of confusion in the morning. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and for a second she moved like she was going to hit him, but she just shoved him in the chest instead.

"Fine" Clint snapped. "Whatever."

Natasha stalked away from him, continuing down the gravel road and past his house towards her own. Clint doubled over, taking deep, gulping breaths as he tried to regain control of his emotions. Panic had erupted red hot through his veins, and he could feel it pulling him under.

He hadn't meant to lose it with Natasha, but he couldn't deal with it. He wanted to go to bed and never wake up again. He wanted to grow up so all of this would be over and he could just do whatever he wanted. More than anything, he wanted his best friend back.

He shook his head and stood up again, feeling a little calmer. He needed to sit down and think of a real plan this time, a plan that even someone as stubborn as Natasha couldn't ignore. There had to be a way for her to remember him.

He just didn't know what it was yet.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**hey guys! this chapter involves a school lockdown (no death/ violence) but thought i would let you know! please review!**

**hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Two weeks passed, and Clint was no closer to making Natasha remember who he was. He felt lost, angry and confused at what was going to happen to them. Natasha had made it clear, on more than one occasion, that she would hurt him if he kept bothering her. He believed her, which scared him. The nightmares were back in full force; he couldn't stop seeing her in his dreams, eyes cold and dead as she squeezed his throat with her tiny hands.

But nevertheless, Clint was determined to get his friend back. During the school day, he pushed all of his anxiety to the side and worked on trying to jog her memory. His list of possible triggers was dwindling by the day. Signing instead of speaking to her had been his strongest idea, but she had just stared at his hands like he was crazy. Thinking about it for too long made his stomach churn, so he had just shaken it off and tried something else.

Natasha hadn't been making it easy, though. She often pushed him away, or avoided him all together. Clint had taken to climbing trees in the morning before school so that she didn't know he was waiting, and then dropping out of them beside her. She usually tried to hit him, but he was getting better at dodging her blows.

Everything about Natasha was controlled now. Clint could tell exactly what she was going to do next, which way she was going to move or where she was aiming on punching him. It was like movement had been pre-programmed into her mind and every step she took was being written by someone else. He didn't understand it and didn't really want to. Whoever was pulling Natasha's strings was doing a damn good job.

That morning was no different. Clint woke early, his limbs stiff. Harold had been home for the last couple of days, and Clint hadn't been able to avoid him or his drunken rampages. Almost every night Clint had gone to sleep only to be woken up hours later by his father yanking him out of bed. Like always, he didn't remember much when he woke up; there were always a few new bruises to cover up, and painkillers left on his bedside table. He had been saving them up in a little sandwich bag and had hid them under his mattress, for what he didn't know.

He packed his backpack ready for school, shoving his notebook full of information about Natasha right at the top. Having the list of possible memory triggers made him feel a bit like a stalker. He was starting to get desperate, though. A small part of him sometimes wondered if it was normal to be so reliant on another person; Natasha was the only person in his life that he truly cared about, except for maybe his mum. It was intense, and he couldn't quite put his finger on exactly what their friendship meant to him.

Clint was his own person, and if he had to, he could continue his life without Natasha in it. It would suck, but he would get over it after a while. He might have done it now, if he didn't know that she was being hurt and manipulated.

Edith had his breakfast waiting on the table, but he wasn't talking to her. Clint marched up to the counter, took his lunch and kept going out the door. He could remember seeing her in the doorway last night, watching as Harold had shaken Clint by the collar of his shirt. His mother never stepped between them. Clint didn't know if he would ever forgive her for it.

Natasha had beat him to the gravel road, and he silently cursed himself. Running up to her would be no use; she would hear him coming from a mile away and would take off herself. Besides, Clint was tired. He resigned himself to another lonely walk, pulling his hood up over his head as it started to rain lightly. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

After math, Clint's class made their way to the gymnasium for P.E. Even though his body didn't feel up to any physical activities, he had a lot of pent up energy to burn. They were sharing the gym with another class, so the teachers decided to join the kids together and let them choose between two sports.

Clint chose dodge ball, mainly because he just really wanted to throw some balls at people. He was picked last for the teams, like always, and was disappointed to learn he was being benched for the first game. He sat in a huff, arms crossed over his chest. People _sucked_.

A girl with mousy brown hair sat beside him. Clint recognised her as one of Clarissa's friends and tried to look anywhere but at her face. He didn't want to start anything with that particular clique, especially without Natasha on his side.

"Hey," she said quietly. "This sucks, right?"

Clint wasn't entirely sure she was talking to him, but he answered anyway. "Yea, I guess."

"Maybe we should've picked basketball" she said.

"They wouldn't even let me play _once_ if I picked basketball," Clint grumbled, then remembered who he was talking to. "It doesn't matter."

"Yea, Clarissa can be a bit of a…"

A lot of words came to Clint's mind, but he settled on one that wouldn't land him in detention if a teacher overheard. "Princess?"

The girl laughed. "Exactly. I'm Laura, by the way."

"'M Clint" he said, and sat up a little straighter. "Why're you talking to me? Are they trying to embarrass me or something?"

Laura frowned, though it was directed across the gym to where Clarissa was running away from the basketball. "No. I don't like it when they bully you."

Clint frowned too. "Well you don't have to be friends with them."

"You're right," Laura sighed. "I guess I've only _ever_ been friends with them. So you just stick together, you know?"

Clint nodded and turned his attention back to the dodge ball game. He was itching to get out there and show the other kids that he was actually really good at sport. Everyone assumed that because he couldn't hear, he couldn't do normal things like throw a ball at someone's head. His aim was his strongest skill, though. Even the detention he would get for aiming for their faces would be worth it.

"I'm sorry," Laura said suddenly. "I shouldn't stand by and let them do it."

"Doesn't matter" Clint muttered. He glanced at her, taking in her soft face and kind eyes, and knew that she was being sincere. It made him feel a lot better, though, to have someone apologise.

"You're friends with Natalia, right?" Laura asked. She twisted her hands in her lap, watching the dodge ball game intently. So far, none of the kids had been hit, and the game mainly consisted of people pretending to throw the ball, then laughing when the other side flinched. "She seems so cool. I never knew anyone from another country before."

"Yea, she's pretty cool," Clint said softly, then admitted, "We're not really talking at the moment."

"Oh, I'm sorry" Laura said, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "I thought you guys were best friends."

"We are" Clint defended. "Just… We had a little fight."

"That sucks" Laura said. "I hope you make up soon."

Clint didn't tell her that he hoped so too. He grinned at her instead, finally convinced that she talking to him because she really wanted to, and not because Clarissa had put her up to it. "You should hang out with us sometime."

"Okay!" Laura agreed easily. A whistle blew and Clint looked back to the game to see that the teacher had called it off. The kids who had been hogging the balls were sent off, and him and Laura brought on to play.

They were on opposite teams, and Clint wasn't going to aim for her until he saw the smirk on Laura's face. It was a challenge he was more than happy to accept. He lined up opposite her, ball in hand, waiting for the whistle.

For the first time in months, his thoughts weren't focused on Natasha.

* * *

Clint was still riding the high of winning the dodge ball game when he found out that his class was merging with Natasha's for a science experiment. He didn't let it ruin his good mood, though. If anything, he felt as if this would finally be the moment he got through to her.

She was already sitting next to someone else by the time the classes had finished filing into the science room. Clint sat behind her and fought the urge to tug on the single long braid that hung straight down her spine. Natasha's teacher, Mr Collins, was taking lead in the class and was naturally soft-spoken. Clint couldn't hear him as well this far back in the room.

He barely listened, anyway. He was too busy thinking about how he had potentially made another friend in Laura, and how much Natasha would like her too once she went back to being normal. He could picture the three of them hanging out and watching movies, or tearing down the gravel road on their bikes. Clint didn't know if either of the girls could actually ride a bike. He would be able to teach them, or if they didn't want to do that they could go to the mall, or –

A shrill alarm snapped Clint out of his daydream. He glanced up at the speakers in the corners of the room along with everyone else, confused. The alarm sounded again, and then they heard a loud voice over the intercom: "LOCKDOWN WITH INTRUDER."

Clint froze, his head snapping back to the front of the class to seek guidance from the teacher. The alert sounded again, the voice booming in the suddenly silent room. Mr Collins began ushering the children in the front row towards the back of the room, and made his way to the door to lock it.

Some of the girls were crying now, huddled together on the ground. The two teachers began moving tables, flipping them to create barricades for the kids to hide behind. Clint shook himself out of his stupor and moved under one of the tables. The alarm was still blaring, and he wished he could turn off his hearing aids. It didn't feel like a drill, not that he had really experienced many before.

Clint's teacher, Mr Wick, knelt in front of him. "You okay?"

Clint knew that they had to check on him first, being the only person in the class considered disabled. Still, he hated the attention it drew to him, and he curled into the already small space a little more. "All good."

"You can hear?" Mr Wick asked, though Clint thought the answer was pretty clear. His teacher looked worried, and Mr Collins was beginning to close the blinds on the windows, so it must be real. Clint felt panic begin to creep up his spine.

"Yep, crystal clear," he said, willing the teacher to go away.

Mr Wick left to help settle the rest of the kids down. Clint rested his chin on his knees and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know what kind of intruder would be at the school, but it made him wish that he hadn't left the house without speaking to his mum first. What if he never saw her again, what if someone came in and got him before he could tell his mum he loved her, or before he had fixed Natasha –

Natasha. He looked up, bumping the top of his head on the table. He rubbed at the sore spot absentmindedly and crawled out of his hiding place. The lights were off now too, and he couldn't hear anyone making any noise. His eyesight was excellent, though, and it didn't take him long to notice that Natasha wasn't huddled with the rest of them.

He saw her move towards the door. Both teachers were preoccupied with trying to stop some of the girls from crying out. Clint didn't want to move, sure that if he did the intruder would know exactly where they were hiding and burst through the door. But Natasha was reaching out to the handle, jerkily, as though she wasn't really sure what she was doing.

He didn't hesitate a second longer. Clint leapt up and moved as quickly as he could across the room, blood pounding in his ears. His hand wrapped around Natasha's upper arm and he prepared himself for her to lash out at him, but when she turned her green eyes were wide and confused.

Clint held his breath. "Natasha?"

"Get back here!" he heard Mr Collins shout, and one of the girls started sobbing.

Clint dragged Natasha back to his hiding place under the table and shoved her under it. He crawled in beside her, out of breath. His hands were shaking, so he curled them around his legs and held himself in a tight ball.

He could feel Natasha shaking beside him. He looked at her, sure that he had seen some part of her old self in her face only seconds ago. She was pale, and had her hands pressed against her ears to block out the sound of the alarm.

"You in there, Nat?" he asked as quietly as he could.

She didn't move her hands, but Clint was sure that she had heard him. Her lower lip trembled, and then she shook her head firmly from side to side, as though trying to dislodge something.

"I don't," she started to say, then stopped. Her voice was so soft that Clint had to strain to see her lips in the dim lighting. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Clint's heart dropped, but he still forced a smile on his face. They were both scared, even if Natasha would never admit it. He wanted to ask her what she had been doing at the door. Maybe she thought this was part of her training, and had gone to take down the intruder. The thought made Clint shudder.

"Someone is in the school," Clint explained. "Probably trying to do something bad."

Natasha nodded jerkily. She moved her hands away from her ears and pulled herself into a ball similar to the way Clint was sitting, her shoulder brushing his. He hadn't been this close to her in months.

Clint couldn't hear anything happening out in the hall, but there was a moment when everyone stopped moving and he could only imagine what might be happening on the other side of the door. It felt like an eternity of sitting on the hard floor, huddled with the other kids. They were too spread out; there was a whole extra class in the room than there would usually be, and it would be fatal if the intruder managed to find them.

He didn't know how much time had passed when the alarm suddenly stopped blaring. Natasha had stopped shaking and had put as much distance between them as was possible in the small space under the table. Clint figured she was probably back to hating him. He didn't care though. He was just glad they were both okay.

Leaving the room was loud and confusing. They weren't allowed to get their backpacks, so Clint tried to stick as close to Natasha as possible until they were separated in the crowd. He didn't understand what was being said around him as they made their way to the front of the school, but then he saw his mum and nothing else mattered.

She wrapped her arms tightly around him, crushing him to her chest. He hugged her back just as fiercely, not the least bit embarrassed. A lot of kids were still crying, and Clint didn't even know what had happened in there. He saw a helicopter overhead, and a few reporters pushing through the crowds.

_Okay?_ his mum signed, one of the few signs she had managed to learn.

Clint nodded, feeling too exhausted to answer her verbally. They stood and, after checking with a teacher, left the school and made their way towards the car.

"I was so worried" Edith was rambling, her hand firm on Clint's shoulder as she guided him around waiting parents. "They said there was a man there threatening to blow up the library! The news said he was crazy, but on TV he looked fine. I don't know if I can send you back there, who knows what –"

Clint tuned her out, wanting nothing more than to go home and curl up on the couch to watch cartoons. It had been a crazy afternoon, and he still didn't know exactly what had happened. He vaguely wondered how Laura was, then remembered Natasha and quickly scanned the crowd for her face.

She was with Ivan, about to get into her own car. For one brief moment, they made eye contact; a line appeared between Natasha's brows, as though she was seeing him for the first time. He smiled slightly, and held her gaze until she ducked into the car and Ivan closed the door behind her.

He wasn't sure what had happened, or what was about to happen, but he knew one thing for sure: there was a part of Natasha still hidden in there, and he was one step closer to getting her out.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**April**

School didn't go back for the rest of the week, and Clint didn't see Natasha at all during that time. He didn't really mind, though, because he didn't feel like doing much himself.

The day after the school lockdown, Clint's ears had started ringing, so Edith had driven him to the local doctor for a quick check-up. The exposure to the alarm had caused tinnitus, something Clint didn't realise he could still get with his hearing loss, but he thought that maybe the hearing aids had made it worse. He spent the next couple of days in silence, letting his ears rest, and it wasn't so bad.

He felt weird after the lockdown; after his body had worked through the adrenaline rush, he had become lethargic and even a little bit sad. Edith didn't let him watch the news programs that covered it, so he didn't know much of what had happened or who the intruder had even been. He spent most of his time off school watching cartoons with the captions on.

They were in the middle of an unusual cold snap the day that school went back. If it weren't for the freezing cold temperatures and the steady snowfall, it would almost feel like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Clint had never seen it snow in April before. Edith said that it had happened once, when they had first moved out of the circus and into the house. Clint didn't remember it, but then, he didn't remember a lot about leaving the circus.

"Got everything?" Edith asked him at the door. Harold had taken the car a week ago and they hadn't seen him since. Clint was glad, if only because it meant he had been free to laze around the house for the last couple of days.

"Yep," he said, pulling his beanie down over his ears. The only reason he wasn't pretending to be sick in bed was because he wanted to see Natasha, and maybe even Laura if she hadn't changed her mind about being his friend. "I'm gonna be fine, mum."

"I know that," Edith said, though she still looked worried. She pulled Clint into a quick, one-armed hug, which was about as affectionate as she ever got with him when his life wasn't in danger. "I'm going into town today for groceries. Is there anything you need?"

Clint kind of wanted to ask his mum for shaving cream and razors, but he felt a little awkward. It was moments like this when he wished that his father was more of a real dad; he wanted someone to teach him to shave, instead of him just having to wing it. Maybe he could ask Barney.

"Nah, I'm good" he said easily. The two of them stepped out into the icy air. It was so cold that it took Clint's breath away at first, but he soon recovered, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep warm.

"Be good" Edith told him.

One of his mum's co-workers was waiting to drive Edith into town. The Barton household only had one car, and since Harold had disappeared with it Edith had been relying on her friends to drive her around. Clint liked to see his mum's co-workers because it meant that she actually _was _working throughout the day. He had had his doubts before, and thought that maybe she just old them that so they wouldn't stress about money.

Clint still stressed about money, but it wasn't so bad knowing that Edith had a job, even if she only worked a few hours a week.

"I will" he promised, then watched wistfully as the car pulled out of the driveway and made its way slowly down the icy road. He wished they had offered him a lift to school, too.

He started to walk before he changed his mind and really did go back to bed. The beanie over his ears made everything sound muffled through the hearing aids, like being under water. He felt like he was being watched, and it unsettled him. As far as he could see, there was no one else on the road. Not even Natasha, who he had almost been expecting.

Clint brushed it off and kept walking. He didn't know what it would be like back at school now that they had had an official lockdown. No one had been hurt, but the threat had been enough to shake even Clint, and he was getting more and more nervous the closer he got to the school. He was getting better at calming himself down, though, and took a few deep breaths of freezing cold air to clear his head.

Falling face first into the ground was starting to become a feeling Clint was too familiar with. Something shoved him hard in the back and he barely had time to try and catch himself as he went down with a jolt. His hands sank into the soft snow, his face smacking into the frozen mass and knocking the air out of his lungs.

He jumped up quickly, heart pounding, the whole front of his body soaking wet. He could even feel water in his boots. It was gross and cold, and he was just about ready to push back when he saw whom he was facing.

Natasha glared at him. "I don't know what you're doing to my head, but you need to stop."

Clint laughed bitterly. "I'm not the one doing anything to your head."

They stared at each other, both of them standing in defensive positions, though Natasha looked a lot angrier than Clint felt. Clint didn't even know _what_ she was angry about, or how she had come to the conclusion that he was somehow to blame for it.

"It's actually your fake uncle –"

"He is my _real_ uncle" Natasha stressed, but that tiny little crease had appeared on her forehead again.

"That's a lie," Clint said. "A part of you probably knows it."

"You're messing with me" Natasha growled, moving up into his face. She shoved him again, this time in the chest. "You did something in the classroom with the alarm and it –"

She trailed off, eyes wide. Clint really didn't like the sound of her American accent. He couldn't help but wonder how they had made her perfect it in such a short amount of time, though. Everything he imagined was horrible. He crossed his arms over his wet chest and waited.

Natasha was apparently done talking, because she spun on her heel and started walking towards the school again. Clint watched her go for a second, torn between following whatever small lead this was in getting her to remember him, or going home and changing into dry clothes. Goosebumps rose across his skin as a particularly cold gust of wind whipped around his shoulders. He jogged to catch up to her.

"Natasha" he called.

"Natalia" she snapped back. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Well you wanted to a second ago," Clint drawled. He grabbed onto her arm and didn't let go this time, swinging her around to face him. "Hey, what do you think I could possibly be doing to mess with your head?"

She snatched her arm away from him, her face stony. "I don't know what you're doing, but you're the only one stupid enough to keep annoying me."

"Yea, I know, you're a dangerous spy or whatever" Clint said. "Well, technically, you're only _training_."

"How do you know that?" Natasha hissed. Even though she still looked angry, Clint thought he saw something like fear flicker in her eyes.

"Duh, you told me" he said, trying to keep it as casual as possible. "You taught me some of your fighting moves."

"I didn't" Natasha said, shaking her head. The snow was starting to turn into rain, and Clint shivered in his already wet clothes. "You're lying."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Tash" Clint said softly.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Natasha made a strange, guttural sound in the back of her throat and lunged at him. He lost his balance as she collided with his chest, and the two of them fell onto the road, Clint on his back with Natasha on top of him.

She hit him. The realisation that she had actually punched him in the face hurt more than the blow itself. She pulled back to do it again, which Clint had at least half expected. He blocked her fist and bucked his hips up, trying to dislodge her, but she just grabbed onto the top of his head and pulled him sideways with her.

They rolled around for a minute, neither one able to gain the upper hand. Natasha was getting frustrated, he could tell. She wasn't fighting like she usually did; whenever she had taught him, she had been graceful, almost like she was dancing through the motions of the fight. Now she was too controlled, too tense. Clint could see exactly what was coming next.

He managed to pin her, and while he had her held down he tried to get through to her verbally. "You're Natasha, you know three languages, you have a doll called Yulia and –"

Natasha snarled at the mention of the doll, pulling her leg up between their bodies and kneeing Clint squarely in the chest. He fell back, winded, and she jumped onto him again, her small, cold hands closing around his throat.

It was his nightmare come to life. Clint panicked, thrashing out underneath her, but she just squeezed tighter. His chest burned, his eyes watering as he worked two of his fingers between her hand and his neck, offering him a little relief. He fought to control his panic, trying not to think about the number of nightmares he had had where he died in this exact scenario.

"You should've left me alone, Barney" Natasha said, and something suddenly clicked in Clint's brain.

"But I'm Clint" he croaked, gasping for air. He only just realised that he had never talked about himself in his effort to get her to remember him. It was probably too late, he thought fleetingly. He couldn't see himself getting out of this one.

At the sound of his name, Natasha's face changed, and she hesitated for just a second. Her hands loosened marginally around his throat as she frowned, something like recognition flickering in her eyes.

Clint didn't hesitate, though. He yanked his arm up, curled his hand into a fist, and punched Natasha in the side of her face.

She fell backwards off him, and he lay for what felt like years gasping for breath. His throat ached with each inhale, but breathing cold air had never felt so good. His eye was throbbing from where Natasha had punched him earlier, and his back hurt from being thrown around on the ground, but he was alive.

He scrambled to his feet, panting, ready for Natasha to hit him again, but she was laying still on the road, eyes closed. Clint dropped back down beside her and shook her shoulder, trying to get her to wake up. He didn't realise that he was strong enough to knock someone out, and what if she never woke up again, what if _he_ had been the one to kill her after all –

Clint heaved, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to look at her. His hands were shaking. All he could think about was his father, and the way he would push Edith against the wall and slap her. He felt dirty and wrong after hitting Natasha, but he hadn't known what else to do to get her stop. He didn't want to turn into his father.

He opened his eyes in time to see Natasha stir. He laughed out of pure relief, the sound harsh coming from his bruised throat. She opened her eyes but didn't move, her fingers digging into the snow at her side. Clint wanted to throw his arms around her and apologise for hitting her. Instead he shuffled forward on his knees and moved his head into her line of sight, holding his breath.

"Clint?" she whispered, blinking hard.

There was a rumble of thunder, and the rain started to pour down on them. Clint couldn't care less. "Yea, Tash?"

Natasha sat up slowly, her hair plastered to her head and her eyes bloodshot. Clint thought she was crying but couldn't tell with the rain that was running down her face. He held his hand out to her, letting her make the first move.

When she leapt at him this time, it wasn't hostile. Clint wound his arms around her stomach and hugged her as tight as he could. She clung to him, nails digging into the back of his neck. Her mouth was right by his ear and he could hear her breath stuttering as though she was holding back sobs. He wanted to tell her it was okay.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, her Russian accent thicker than ever. It was the best sound Clint had ever heard. "They take you – I forget, is like looking at nothing, is big holes and they _take_ _you_."

"I'm still here" Clint said firmly.

He had a million questions running through his mind. He wanted to ask her what it had been like, if she was fully back to being herself already or if there was something else they would have to do to keep her present. He didn't worry about it now, though. They had never hugged before, and it felt nice after months of being apart to finally have his best friend back.

"Is bad" Natasha moaned. "_I'm _bad. I hurt you."

Clint struggled to pull her away from him, but he wanted to look her in the eye. "I hurt you, too. But it made you come back."

Her lower lip trembled as she looked at him. Clint tried to smile reassuringly, but half his face was numb from the cold and the other half ached from where she had hit him. They were both soaked from head to toe, and the snow around them was turning into sludge. They were definitely late to school now, and there was no way they could go to class in their wet clothes.

"Let's go to my house" Clint said, making up his mind. "No one's home. We can just…"

Natasha looked unsure and scared, the most vulnerable Clint had ever seen her. He didn't really know what they would do at his house, or where they would go from here. But they had the whole day to figure it out.

"C'mon Tash," Clint said, and stood up. "I still have Yulia in my room for you."

"Like you promise" Natasha said, and Clint nodded, helping her to her feet.

"Obviously," Clint grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

It made Natasha smile, just a little. She grabbed onto his hand tightly and picked up his backpack, and he let her lead him back down the road towards his house. Clint couldn't believe that she was back, finally. It almost felt like he had died earlier and was now somewhere else, where everything was right.

Except it wasn't right, not yet. Clint was hopeful they could fix it. He squeezed her hand and walked forward with her. Together.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**hey guys, this chapter does mention brainwashing and children fighting**

**hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Clint rummaged around his drawers for clothes that would be small enough to fit Natasha. Behind him she sat on the bed, staring at the wall opposite her. She hadn't said much since they had stumbled into his house, trailing water through the kitchen and hall to his room. Edith would flip if she saw the puddles and mud.

"How are you feeling?" Clint asked over his shoulder, turning slightly so he could see Natasha as she answered.

She shrugged, then bit her lip. "Cold."

"I should have something that'll fit you" Clint said. He managed to find an old long-sleeved shirt with a faded picture of Woody from Toy Story that he had grown out of a few years ago. He knew all of his pants would be too big for her, so he just grabbed a soft pair that had a drawstring, and then at the last second grabbed her a pair of his socks, too.

"_Spasibo_" she mumbled softly as he pressed them into her arms.

"Shower's just down the hall" he told her. "You can take as long as you want, no one's home."

Natasha just stared at him for a minute, looking unsure. He pointed out the door, trying to act encouraging even though he didn't really know what he was doing. Natasha hesitated a second longer before jumping off the bed and moving swiftly out of the room. Clint watched her go and waited until the bathroom door closed before he sat down on the bed himself.

It _was_ cold. His hands were shaking, though he assumed that part of it was from the adrenaline wearing off. He took his own wet and muddy clothes off and kicked them aside. He grabbed his own pair of pants and a woolly jumper. He doubled up on the socks and ran his hands through his hair, shaking some of the water out.

He took the clothes to the laundry and stopped outside of the bathroom door. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of the shower. He didn't think she would hurt herself, but a little fear curled tightly in his belly as he thought about all the sharp objects and medications they kept in the cabinet.

Natasha had left her clothes outside of the door, so he took those to the laundry too before his imagination got carried away. When he walked back past the bathroom the shower had stopped, so he quickly went back to his room to wait for her. He didn't want her to know he had been snooping, even if it was out of concern.

His doona and one of his pillows were wet from where Natasha had been sitting. He pulled the doona off the bed but didn't really know what to do with it. The wet clothes he would be able to explain to Edith, but a wet bed not so much. Clint picked it up and carted it downstairs to hang in front of the fireplace, which was only just smouldering. He added a little more wood and poked around until the flame grew and stayed lit.

Clint stayed in front of the fire for a minute, warming his hands and face. A quick glance at the clock showed it was only just 9:30, but to Clint it felt like the day should almost be over. He was tired and his body hurt all over. He closed his eyes but all he could see was Natasha above him, her hands around his throat. He stood up abruptly and went back to his room, trying to forget the memory.

Natasha was standing in the middle of his room, looking lost again. She had rolled the sleeves of the shirt up past her wrists, and the pants were miles too long on her, too. She had Edith's hairbrush clutched tightly in one hand. Clint wasn't sure if she was intending to use it as a weapon or not.

"Hey," he said, ignoring the way she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Hi" she said.

"How was your shower?" Clint asked awkwardly. He had been waiting for this moment for months, and now that Natasha was back and could remember him he didn't know how to act.

"Good" she answered. She stared at the hairbrush in her hand as if she was just noticing she was holding it. "Was warm."

"Do you need to brush your hair, cause you can use mum's brush" Clint told her. "I won't tell her."

He wouldn't have heard her properly if he hadn't been watching her lips. "Will you?"

The space between them suddenly seemed too large. Clint kind of felt like crying, because Natasha wasn't usually so vulnerable and unsure around him; even on some of her worst days, she still sat right next to him, or sought him out in the crowd. She had asked him to help her now, but the look on her face told him that she was scared, too.

"Course, Tash" he said. When she didn't move he went over and sat on his bed, back against the headboard. He didn't know if she really meant it, or if she would even be comfortable enough to have her back to him. They were treading water; every move they made next would be the difference between sinking and floating.

Natasha crossed over and carefully pulled herself up onto the bed. She handed him the brush, smiling softly, then settled between his legs with her hands resting on his knees.

Her hair was already beginning to curl at the ends. Clint gently ran the brush through a section of it but it wasn't knotty. Natasha seemed to relax the more he brushed, so he kept going long after he had covered her whole head. He didn't really know if he was doing it right, but the fact that she trusted him enough made his heart swell.

The repetitive motion of the brush through her hair seemed to be grounding Natasha. He could tell, even without looking at her, that she was slowly becoming more comfortable and surer of herself. He didn't know what he had expected the aftermath of her memory loss to be like, but sitting like this on the bed hadn't really factored in.

Eventually, his stomach rumbled and he couldn't keep pretending to brush the same section of hair. He put the brush to the side and tapped Natasha on the shoulder. She turned around and sat in front of him, her legs crossed.

"Thank you" she said, and signed it too. "I remember to sign. How I forget…"

Clint shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't your fault."

Natasha shrugged. "How long?"

"You've been back for like, three weeks?" Clint said. "So I only looked like an idiot chasing you around for a little while."

"_Izvinite_" Natasha said, shaking her head. She folded her arms over her chest, gripping her elbows tightly. "I hurt you."

"You didn't – " Clint started to say, but stopped when she glared at him.

"I did. I remember."

"You pushed me a couple of times," he admitted, then added quickly, "But I was annoying you, and you didn't remember me, so."

Clint could see where the beginning of a bruise was beginning to form on the side of Natasha's face. He could only imagine what his own face and throat looked like; both were tender to move too much, which wasn't helped by the fact that he couldn't wipe the huge smile off his face.

"Is like, your face was blur in brain" Natasha said. She began to drag her nails up and down her left arm, though she didn't seem to notice she was doing it. "I know someone was there, once. But was not… was not _you_."

"That would be hard to understand" Clint said. "I thought they would just take all the memories and there would be nothing."

Natasha looked sad. "For some, I think. You say I hit someone."

"Oh," Clint said, not being able to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Yea, you punched Clarissa Rydell in the face. It was awesome."

Natasha shook her, eyes squeezed shut, but when she opened them again she didn't look any different to what she had a second ago. "I don't know."

"That's okay" Clint said enthusiastically. "I'll give you a rundown of everything cool we've ever done and maybe one day the memories will come back!"

"Okay," Natasha agreed, smiling. "You were still there in brain, but face is gone. Then you say name, Clint, and it comes back. I remember again."

"Is that why you told Ivan my name was Barney that day?" Clint asked. "So it would help you remember me one day?"

"_Nyet_. I do not want him to know."

The fierceness in her voice reminded him of the Natasha he knew. The way she was talking to him was the Natasha he knew, and even the way she was scratching herself was a welcome sight. She was back, for real.

"What kind of training did you do?" Clint asked, his curiosity bubbling over.

Natasha's face seemed to shut off for a second, and Clint worried that he had pushed her too far. His stomach rumbled again, and fearing rejection, he quickly scrambled off the bed before she could answer and headed towards the door.

"Let's make lunch" he said quickly, not waiting to see if she would follow. "I'm hungry. Then you can tell me about it, if you want."

Natasha did follow him. Even though she was still only a child, Clint had never seen her look quite so childlike before. He didn't know if it was the Toy Story shirt she was wearing or the complete openness to her face that he hadn't seen before, but it shocked him back to reality for a moment. They were just kids. It wasn't fair.

Clint set to making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without asking Natasha what she felt like. She sat at the counter, resting her head on her hands and watching him intently. He met her gaze and waggled his eyebrows, and she laughed.

"My favourite" she said, reaching eagerly for the sandwich he had barely finished making. She took a bite and closed her eyes, her whole body sagging. "Is good."

"It's pretty good" Clint agreed, munching on his own sandwich.

Natasha was done in a flash, eating so fast Clint wasn't sure she had even tasted it. He started to make her another one, and found some orange juice in the fridge too that he poured for them.

"They teach me how to shoot gun," Natasha started to say, then switched to signing. _I'm really good, probably the best in my group. We do a lot of physical activity, like running and fighting. I'm good at that too._

"I know you're a good fighter," Clint said out loud, since his hands were busy making sandwiches. "You kick my butt all the time. What's it like shooting a gun?"

_I like it_, Natasha admitted, and it was the first time Clint had ever heard her talk about her training in a good way. _It gives me a lot of control. I think it will be harder next time, though._

"How come?" Clint asked, and passed Natasha her next sandwich.

She chewed thoughtfully for a second, nose scrunched up. "They teach us to be strong. So we do not say secrets when we are being hurt."

"Like, torture or something?" Clint said.

"_Da_" Natasha replied. "Will be hard."

Clint swallowed and nodded, eyes wide. "Um, yea, of course it will be hard! Nat, that's crazy. You can't let them torture you."

She rolled her eyes. "What I do? Let them kill me instead?"

Clint frowned and took a gulp of juice. As if what she was going through wasn't torture enough already. He let the thought simmer in his head for a minute before he pushed it far away, not wanting to get angry today. "You're American accent creeps me out."

"Do you mean this one?" Natasha asked, her voice perfectly pitched and perfectly American. Clint shuddered and she laughed.

"How did they get you to do that?" he asked.

"Was a movie" she said, her voice back to normal. "We watch every day, say words back. I do not think about it or my head go fuzzy."

"So weird" Clint said. "Do you still dance?"

"Hmm" Natasha hummed, her eyes bright. "I love it. Is hard and Madame is scary. But is like flying, I think."

"You can show me one day" Clint said. He didn't really understand how she had suddenly become a dancer after her first trip back to Russia, but it probably wasn't important at the moment. If they could teach her a perfect American accent just from a movie, then they could probably teach her to dance just as easily.

It wasn't even close to lunch yet, but he was happy and full now. There were a lot of things they needed to talk about, and they hadn't even really covered the time that she had forgotten him, but Clint knew it was a start.

The fact that Natasha was sitting across from him, smiling and laughing and being honest, was exactly what he had hoped for. They had the whole day to talk. For now, he could just enjoy her company.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day on the couch with cartoons turned on in the background.

Natasha flipped through Clint's notebook of memories, Yulia tucked up under her arm. Her whole face had lit up when Clint had pulled the doll out, though she had no recollection of the Harry Potter novels. She told him about everything; dancing in front of a long mirror; fighting in a courtyard with girls just a little slower, a little weaker; running in the woods; shooting guns at targets in a dark room; going into a room and coming out with holes in her brain and a new silver scar on her temple; watching movies and reciting the lines; looking at maps of the world and naming the capital cities.

Some of it sounded like normal school stuff. Others, like the fighting and the stale bread for breakfast, reminded Clint more of a prison.

They managed to convince Edith to let Natasha sleepover, telling her that the reason their faces were bruised was because they had been ambushed by bullies on the way to school. Natasha gave a very convincing performance, though Clint could see that Edith wasn't her usual self and didn't care that much anyway. They were mostly telling the truth, anyway; Natasha had told him that Ivan was out for the rest of the week, meeting with an informant in another city. She didn't know what for, but with Ivan, it could be anything.

They put themselves to bed early, leaving Edith staring blankly at the TV. Clint had set up a sleeping bag and pillow on the floor for himself, and was letting Natasha take the bed. She kept Yulia with her even when they brushed their teeth, and took the doll into bed with her.

Clint thought that they might almost be out of words. They had never spoken as much as they had today, and it had been tiring. He sighed in relief as he crawled into the sleeping bag, feeling his body relax for the first time all day. He wanted to go to sleep straight away but decided to wait and keep his hearing aids in, in case Natasha needed anything.

They said goodnight, and then Natasha flipped the lamp off and the room plunged into darkness. Clint wriggled around, trying to keep himself awake. He couldn't hear Natasha breathing, but that wasn't surprising. He didn't know how long he should wait.

"Clint?" came Natasha's voice from the darkness a few minutes later.

"Hmmm?" Clint hummed, eyes closed and half asleep. "Sup?"

"Do you have rope?"

"Huh?" Clint grunted. He rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up to rest on his elbows. "What do ya mean?"

He could just make out Natasha sitting up in his bed. "Rope. For… tying things."

"Um" he said. "Nope, not here. Maybe in the shed? How come?"

"Is okay" she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Maybe I go home."

"No, wait," Clint said, but he was too firmly wedged into the sleeping bag to get out quickly. He held his hand out to her, confused as to why she suddenly wanted to leave. "We might have something else? Just tell me what it's for."

Natasha hesitated, then she turned the lamp back on. Clint could see that her hairline was sweaty, even though the room was cool.

"I need to sleep" she said carefully. "I need… Ivan use handcuff, in bed. In Red Room they do it too. I need it to sleep."

Clint blinked at her. "What do you mean? Like, to hold or something?"

Natasha huffed. "_Nyet_. It go like this – " She circled one of her wrists with her opposite hand, then moved back to the bed. "And go here." She held her wrist up to the headboard, looking at him with eyes that pleaded with him to understand.

"When he chains you up?" Clint said softly.

"I need it to sleep," she said, her voice wavering. "You tie me. They do it in Red Room. We all sleep like that. I _need_ it."

"Okay, okay" Clint assured her. He climbed out of the sleeping bag and started to look around for something they could use. It felt weird but he was in no mood to try and talk her out of it. If it was what she needed, he could at least try to give it to her.

Except there was nothing in his room that would even come close to acting as a restraint. Natasha made an anxious sound and started to pull her hair, her eyes wild. Clint thought as hard as he could for a solution. He didn't really want to go outside, and he didn't think they would be able to get past Edith a second time. He glanced at the headboard and suddenly had an idea.

"What if I hold it for you?" he said.

Natasha stared at him. "What?"

"Here," Clint said, and climbed into his bed. He moved the pillow a little and scooted right over to the edge of the bed, then tapped the small space left beside him. "It'll be a tight fit, but we can do it."

She moved slowly, hands still tangled in her hair. Clint pulled Yulia out from under the blankets and laid the doll on his chest. His head was at a bit of an awkward angle, but he was honestly too tired to care.

Natasha climbed in and curled herself tightly against his side. She raised her right arm above her head, and Clint moved more onto his side so that he could reach up and grab onto her wrist. The effect was instantaneous; Natasha let out a deep, shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed and her body going slack.

"_Spasibo_" she mumbled, not opening her eyes. Her free hand found its way onto his chest, where she gripped onto Yulia firmly.

Clint smiled, though it felt wrong. He squeezed her wrist a little tighter, and used his free hand to take out his hearing aids. The lamp was too far away to turn off so he just left it to cast a soft glow over the room.

There wasn't nearly enough room in the bed. Clint knew that he would have a terrible sleep. He just didn't care. He had Natasha back, mostly, and if he had to hold her wrist for the rest of his life, he wouldn't really mind it.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**thanks for the reviews guys! keep them coming, i love hearing what you think!**

**don't worry the next chapter will be kinder to our precious lil beans :) hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Clint woke up to sunlight filtering through a crack in the curtains. The room was cool and he lay there for a moment watching his breath fog out in front of him. Everything was silent and still. For a moment he could drift between sleep and consciousness without having to worry about anything, and it was _nice_.

He had almost fallen asleep again when the body beside him moved. He cracked an eye open and took in Natasha's face, calmer in sleep than he had ever seen her despite the huge bruise that had formed overnight. She was laying halfway down the bed, her arms curled tightly around Yulia, her breath soft and warm on his forearm. He didn't want to disturb her, but over her shoulder he could see his alarm clock, and they were really late for school.

Clint tumbled out of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face and trying to get the last of the sleep out of his eyes. He popped his neck, then put both of his hearing aids back in and heard the familiar rush of sound into his ears. It took a minute for everything to settle, and when it did he could hear that Natasha was actually snoring, though it wasn't very loud and actually sounded kind of cute.

The thought made him stop. Clint had never thought of Natasha as cute before. She was always fierce and wild and sassy; occasionally annoying, and sometimes even scary. She was his best friend. She wasn't _cute_.

He shook his head and left the room, heading for the bathroom. It had been a confusing 24 hours and even though he had slept solidly through the night, he was still tired. In the bathroom he splashed his face with water, wincing at the sight of his slightly bruised throat and the even darker mark on his cheek. It was probably a good thing they weren't going to school today, because covering up marks like that would be difficult.

He went into the cabinet and took some of Barney's shaving cream. The hair that had started to grow on his face wasn't long yet, but it was already bothering him a little. Plus, he didn't want to give the kids at school another reason to pick on him. A miniscule moustache wouldn't help him at all.

It took him longer than he thought, especially when he ran the razor over the tender flesh on his cheek, but he was happy with the end result. He washed his face again. A part of him realised that he was wasting time so that he didn't have to wake Natasha up, or go back and wait for her to wake up. He felt a little awkward, because he didn't even know if he thought that she was cute or if he just thought that the fact she snored was cute compared to how tough she was. It was weird.

He tried not to think about it on his way back to his room. Natasha was sitting up in the bed, stretching her arms high above her head. She grinned softly when she saw him and let her arms fall heavily to her side.

"Morning" he said. His stomach grumbled loudly and he pointed down the hall sheepishly. "Breakfast?"

"Okay" Natasha agreed and followed him to the kitchen.

Her hair was a mass of curls and knots on the back of her head, but Clint didn't tell her. He let her take her usual seat at the counter and set to work on making toast without thinking. He pulled out the nearly empty tub of peanut butter and grabbed the jelly to go with it.

"Juice too?" he asked her.

"_Da_" she replied. "Is orange?"

"Yea" Clint said. "So, did you end up sleeping okay?"

Natasha fiddled with her fingers, avoiding his gaze. "Yes. It… Thank you."

"S'all good, Tash" Clint said honestly. The toast popped and he set to spreading the first slices for her. "You know I'll always help you out."

"Is stupid and weak" Natasha huffed. "Yesterday I almost kill you in morning, then you have to hold my hand at night."

Clint frowned and pushed the plate of toast towards her. "Well. I don't know if that makes you stupid _or _weak. Maybe it just makes you, like, traumatised or something."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, but her eyes were dark. "Is not my fault."

"I never said it was," Clint answered. "Just that, maybe all the bad stuff that happens to you does something to your brain as well. Something that not even they can change."

"Sound stupid to me" Natasha moaned. "Why my brain is not normal? I don't want it."

She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on the end of it. Clint could tell that she wasn't happy with what he had said, because usually she would have finished her food by now. He looked at her, the way she had slouched into the stool and the unimpressed pout on her lips, and tried to see if he thought that was cute, too.

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing" Clint said quickly, turning his back on her. He made his own toast in silence, not looking at her until he was sure the heat in his cheeks had faded. When he turned around again, though, she still hadn't finished her toast and was taking small sips of her juice.

"You can have something else" Clint said, gesturing at the pantry. "If you don't want the toast."

"No, is good" Natasha said, but she didn't sound convincing. She took another tiny bite and flashed him the fakest smile he had ever seen. Alarm bells began to go off in his head. It amazed him how well he now knew her, when a couple of years ago he didn't have the social skills to even have a friend

"There's cereal" Clint pushed. "We have Frosted Flakes, or Cookie Crunch, or – "

"Toast is fine" Natasha insisted, though her eyes had widened at the names of the different cereals.

"Lucky Charms, they're good." Clint continued as though he hadn't heard her. "And mum buys Raisin Bran but that's not as sweet and it has raisins, so gross."

Natasha shook her head and picked up her toast. Clint glared at her.

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not" Natasha shot back. "Toast is fine."

"I should've asked what you wanted," Clint said. "But you know you can tell me if you don't want something, Nat. There's heaps of choices."

"I have no choices!" Natasha suddenly shouted. "Is never choice for me. Don't you see?"

Clint stared at her in shock. Natasha sat for a moment, breathing raggedly, then she reached up and smacked the side of her head hard, right over the bruise Clint had left there yesterday.

"You can choose with me," Clint said softly. "You always have a choice with me."

Natasha blew out a deep breath, and when she looked at him her eyes were watery. _Okay_, she signed. _Maybe I'll try the cereal_.

Clint quirked the corner of his mouth up in a sad smile, then walked back around the counter to go into the pantry. "What'll it be, _printsessa_?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at the name, but Clint could tell she was secretly pleased that he had at least learnt a little more Russian. "Maybe the cookie?"

He could've guessed that she would have picked that one. Natasha had a wicked sweet tooth, and Edith's cookies were probably her favourite food in the entire world. The cereal didn't have the exact same flavour, but he was sure she would like it.

He set the bowl full of cereal and milk down in front of her and watched eagerly as she ate her first spoonful. Her eyes closed in pure bliss for a second, and Clint felt a swell of emotion deep in his chest that he didn't recognise.

Natasha's eyes suddenly snapped open and a little milk dribble down her chin. "We have school."

"It's way too late to go to school," Clint laughed. "Plus it's only Friday. It's basically the weekend."

"Okay for me" Natasha shrugged, and finally started to eat with gusto.

"I'm gonna teach you how to shoot my bow" Clint said, surprising himself. His bow was sacred; not even Barney had been allowed to use it at the circus, and Clint would probably sacrifice himself for it without question. Things were different with Natasha, though. He couldn't really explain it.

"Is medieval," Natasha scoffed. The light in her eyes showed him she was joking. "I would like it, though."

"And I'll teach you how to ride a bike" Clint said. "We have the whole weekend to practise."

"Why I need to ride bike?" Natasha asked. She glanced at her now empty bowl, then snuck a look at Clint out of the corner of her eye. "Was good."

"Want some more?" he asked. "You can help yourself, you know."

Natasha stood up jerkily. Even though she seemed to be doing okay, there was an edge to her that he wasn't sure how to approach. Before she had left for Russia she hadn't really been hitting herself as much, or even scratching her arms, but in the day that she had been back to normal she had done both things at least once. It worried Clint to see her falling back into old habits. He hoped that new challenges would keep her mind occupied.

She poured the cereal and milk, then stood staring at the bowl as though she didn't know what came next. When she looked over to him for guidance he could tell that she wasn't really present. It had only been a minute since he had told her to help herself and in that short amount of time something had obviously happened in her head.

"Natasha? If you don't eat it soon it'll go soggy."

She frowned at him and reached for the spoon, but it slipped from her fingers and clanged off the side of the bowl. Everything seemed to stop for a moment.

Natasha screamed. It startled Clint enough that he jumped off the stool and was moving around to the other side of the counter before she had even stopped. Natasha dropped, knees hitting the linoleum with a loud smack, and Clint fell right beside her. She pressed her hands against her ears, her whole body shaking as she curled herself into a tight ball.

Clint could hear the blood pounding in his ears. "Natasha? What's wrong? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

She wasn't breathing properly. Clint's first thought was that she was hurt, but then he remembered the way he had felt that day with his father, and all of the other times it had happened; the panic crawling red hot through his veins, the urge to run and scream and get away. The last time it had happened he had made it to the woods before he had had to stop and claw at the Earth, trying to get the panic under control.

"Breathe in" he told her firmly. "You gotta breathe. Grab my hand."

She reached for his arm blindly, nails digging into his flesh. "_Ya ne mogu_."

"You can" Clint said. "You can, you do it everyday. Breathe in, nice and deep."

Natasha shuddered, wrapping her other arm around her stomach and rocking on her knees. Clint wanted to hug her but didn't know if touching her was a good idea. He didn't even know what was going on, just that Natasha had been fine and now she wasn't. Had he said or done something wrong?

Clint hummed, trying to fill the space with a soothing sound while Natasha self-calmed. He felt powerless, and a little anxious himself. He was learning a whole new side to his best friend, and it had only been a day and a half since she had been back. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tentatively moved his arm so that he could instead grab her hand.

She met his gaze, snot running down her nose. "Is sound of lock."

"Huh?" Clint asked gently, shuffling just a little bit closer to her. "What lock?"

"In Red Room," Natasha breathed, her eyes still glassy. It was the third time she had brought up that name, and Clint didn't really understand the full context of it. He assumed it was the name of the facility that was training her, though she had never elaborated and he didn't know if he _wanted _to know. "They have cell. Two girls go in."

Clint felt his heart stop. He _really_ didn't want to know. He pushed aside his discomfort and asked anyway, "What happened, Tash?"

"Ekaterina is bigger," Natasha said. "I am faster. They lock us in dark for days. There is little food, we fight to eat it. I am faster, I get food most." Here she paused, her eyes re-focusing on his face. "Ekaterina dies. They leave me with her anyway."

Everything clicked into place. The sound of the spoon reminded her of the sound of a lock sliding into place, took her back to a room and a dead girl she had long left behind. Natasha's eyes were haunted, watching him as though she thought he would turn away in disgust.

He was disgusted, but not with her. The people who had done this to her deserved exactly what they had dished out, if not more pain. He didn't know if the spoon was the only reason behind her panic attack. He wasn't going to ask. This was new territory he didn't know how to approach yet.

Instead he opened his arms to her, just in case. She crawled into him and rested her chin on his shoulder, her body still trembling beneath his hands. She was small and young and scared against him; sometimes, Clint could forget that she was only still eleven. Sometimes he could forget that this was a part of their life. The fear and the uncertainty and the weird habits. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend.

"You're not there" he said firmly. "You're here with me."

"Traumatised" she whispered weakly. "I think you are right."

"I think you're a kid, like me" Clint said. "And when bad stuff happens to kids, sometimes it's too much for their head. That's why we have each other. To help us deal with the bad stuff."

"Yes" Natasha said. "You are my strong, Clint."

All of the emotions of the last three weeks hit him at once. He let himself cry out of fear and sadness and relief and happiness, one hand tangled in the mass of knots in Natasha's hair. They were safe together, and in the afternoon he would push her along on his bike and she would beat him in a handstand race and they would just be normal kids for a while. He was happy to wait with her for now. He would always wait for her.

"You're my strong too, Tasha."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**finally some pure happiness for our lil beans! wish i could say that it lasts :(**

**hope you enjoy! drop a review! x**

* * *

**May**

The cold snap was finally over, and the sun was already working overtime to make up for the extra weeks of snow. Clint was in a t-shirt and shorts, but he felt sticky and uncomfortable waiting outside the school grounds for Natasha. He could feel sweat dripping slowly down his back.

He couldn't see Ivan's car, which meant that Natasha would be walking home with him. There had been a couple of afternoons where she had been picked up after school and whisked away, but she was confident that Ivan hadn't realised her memories had returned and wanted to keep it that way. So Clint waited after the bell, off to the side of the school gates, hoping that he wouldn't see the stupid tinted car parked with all the others.

Natasha knocked her shoulder against his, and he turned to her smiling. She was sweaty too, and had her jumper tied around her waist. _Uncle Ivan isn't here_.

_Nope,_ Clint signed back. _Let's go. Do you want to have another go at the bow?_

_Obviously,_ Natasha replied, smirking.

It had kind of made Clint feel good to know that Natasha wasn't immediately perfect at everything she tried. Her first time trying to shoot the bow hadn't been successful; she had been so confident going into it, and by the end she had just been frustrated that she hadn't made a perfect bullseye. Clint had warned her that archery was hard, but Natasha was stubborn.

She was convinced she would be better than him one day. He had just laughed. He had years of practise on her, and besides, a bow and arrow wasn't the first weapon of choice in spy training.

Like always, Clint grabbed onto whatever part of Natasha was in reach before she stepped straight out onto the road. Today it was the end of her braid, which probably wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done, but still. It was better than her being hit by a car.

She slapped his hand away. _I can cross the road myself, you know._

_You really can't, _Clint told her. _It's literally the most dangerous thing you do_.

Natasha laughed. _Okay. I'll tell my instructors that they're teaching me the wrong life skills._

Clint rolled his eyes and shoved her. Things had been going pretty well since Natasha's return and the panic attack in the kitchen. They were working through the aftershocks of the memory loss together; if Natasha were unsure she would ask him to fill in the blanks, and if she started to feel panicked they would sit on the floor together until it passed. As the days progressed, those moments were few and far between, and it felt good.

_Should we stop for snacks? _Clint asked, though he already knew the answer.

_I'll never say no to snacks_, Natasha signed. _Especially if there's cookies_.

_Doubt it,_ Clint replied. _Mum's been out a lot_.

Natasha groaned, long and drawn out, tipping her head back towards the sky. _What's the point of anything?_

_Oh my God_, Clint said. _Stop being so dramatic_.

Another thing that Clint had noticed since Natasha had returned was how much more open she was. There were parts of her personality that were slowly revealing themselves, and Clint thought it was so much fun to discover. She was still the exact same Natasha that he had met two years ago, but he could see now that she had been hiding parts of herself from him. Maybe forgetting him had made her finally realise that keeping secrets wast worth it. Or maybe she was just being a typical pre-teen while she still could.

They squeezed through the fence and began the trek through the first field. Natasha stuck her tongue out at him in response, then fell into a perfect series of cartwheels. He watched her go, smiling to himself. She loved cartwheels and handstands and anything acrobatic, and she was good at it, too. He didn't know how she managed to keep her backpack over her shoulders.

She righted herself and bowed to him, so he clapped. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Clint didn't really understand some of the things he had started feeling since Natasha had been back; he just knew that moments like this – when she was happy and bright and full of life – made his heart want to burst out of his chest.

When he caught up to her she was out of breath, her cheeks flushed. _That was seventeen in a row._

_No way_, Clint signed back.

_Yes, it's a new world record_, Natasha declared. _You're just jealous_.

_Am not_, Clint protested.

_Am too_, Natasha teased, and dodged out of the way as he tried to shove her again. _Nice try, birdbrain_.

Clint leapt at her and she squealed, laughter bubbling out of her throat again. They took off sprinting through the field, Natasha always just a step ahead of him. The air whistled in his ears, sound turning to white noise the faster he pushed himself. He stretched his arm out, lungs burning and legs aching, but he couldn't quite catch her as they finally bounded up the porch stairs to his house.

_I win_, Natasha boasted, dumping her bag by the front door.

Clint was too breathless to reply. He could feel the sweat on his temples, and his shirt stuck to his back. It was gross. He shook his hair out and dropped his bag down beside Natasha's before moving to the pantry. There wasn't a lot of good food left; Edith had been working more than usual, and had forgotten the groceries last week. Clint snagged the peanut butter jar from the pantry, as well as the last tub of Cheez Balls and a box of graham crackers.

Natasha pulled a jar of pickles out of the fridge, waving it triumphantly in his face. Clint frowned.

"That's gross."

She glared at him. "For me then."

"Sure," he agreed, secretly glad that she had made the decision for herself. Some days she could make up her mind on the spot; other days, Clint would lay out every option for her and spend the next half an hour convincing her it was okay to choose.

They packed everything into Natasha's backpack with a couple of bottles of water and made their way back out into the stifling heat. Clint grabbed his bow and quiver from the side of the house and they started down the gravel road again.

"Wanna go to the creek first?" he asked. The creek ran through the woods and ended in a little pool nearby the clearing where they usually practised archery. Clint didn't know where the creek began. When they had first moved into the house, him and Barney had tried to follow it into the woods, but the had barely made any progress by the time night fell. A part of him was still curious to find out, though.

"Okay" Natasha said. "Is so hot."

"I know," Clint moaned, shielding the sun from his eyes. "But I'm glad there's no more snow."

They set their things done by the edge of the creek bed. Clint tested the water with his foot, not surprised to find that it was warm from the heat of the sun. One half of the creek pool was under the coverage of trees, but the side they were on was out in the open.

"I'm gonna swim" Clint decided a second later. He realised that he should have at least changed into his bathers, but his clothes were already sweaty. A little water wasn't going to hurt.

"Ooh, me too," Natasha agreed.

To Clint's horror, Natasha started to take her shirt off. He looked away quickly, heat burning his cheeks, before he noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had a crop top on. He hesitantly glanced back, watching her shuffle out of her shorts until she stood in just her underwear. He didn't know where to look, not wanting to make her uncomfortable even though she clearly wasn't.

"I beat you," she said, grinning, and took off towards the water before Clint could even think of a reply.

So it wasn't weird, and for a second he reprimanded himself for thinking that it would be. Natasha was comfortable around him, and besides, it technically wasn't the first time he had seen her in her underwear. She had changed into her pyjamas in front of him more times than he could count when she was younger. It didn't have to be different now, just because they were a little older.

He quickly pulled his shirt over his head and stripped down to his boxers, running into the water after her. She was floating on her back, eyes closed and face calm. He fought the urge to splash her and just sat in the shallow water, letting his skin cool off.

"You can swim?" Natasha asked, opening one eye to peer at him.

"Yea," Clint said. "I gotta take my hearing aids out though."

_Not a problem, _Natasha signed, hands hovering over her belly. Then, she stretched her arms up and let herself be submerged for a moment.

Clint took his aids out and got out to place them carefully on his clothes. The world descended into silence; he felt the slight breeze on his skin more acutely now, and the sight of Natasha bobbing up out of the water soundlessly was pretty cool. He didn't give her a chance to move before he ran back to the water and bombed in.

The water instantly cooled him as his head went under. When he popped up Natasha was waiting to splash him, and they soon began an all out war. He could see that she was laughing, her face almost split in half by her smile, and even though he missed the sound it still made him burst with happiness.

She managed to dunk him, and when he resurfaced she was standing a couple of feet from him, panting with her hands on her hips. He shook out his hair and smirked at her.

_Giving up?_ He teased.

_Never_, she signed back, a dangerous glint to her eye.

This time, Clint managed to get the upper hand. Instead of splashing her, though, he reached out and dug his fingers into her side. Natasha jerked, her face momentarily surprised before he did it again and he could see her start to laugh. He hadn't really expected his plan to work, but it turned out Natasha _was _ticklish. Clint continued to tickle her sides, moving along with her as she tried to escape until they both fell in a heap, Clint going underwater again.

_Not funny_, she signed as soon as his head was out of the water.

_You're ticklish_, he teased. _Who would've thought._

_Whatever_, Natasha said. _I'm hungry_.

They waded out of the water and collapsed onto the soft grass. Natasha pulled the snacks out of her backpack as Clint dried his head and ears. He didn't mind having his hearing aids out, but when he was outside he felt more comfortable being able to tell what was going on around him.

By the time he had them in Natasha was munching on a pickle, the jar by her side.

"Is good" she said when she noticed the look on his face. "You have no taste."

"You're definitely half raccoon or something" Clint muttered. He dunked a graham cracker in the peanut butter and took a huge bite. "S'gross."

The sun was still hot enough that the sun was drying them off quickly. Clint stacked a bunch of crackers on top of each other and tried to shove them all in his mouth at once, chasing the hunk of food down with half a bottle of water.

"You think I am gross?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'm a _growing boy_" Clint stressed, already building another cracker tower. "I need so much food."

Natasha ignored him, instead scooping some peanut butter onto her own graham cracker and topping it with another pickle. Clint's mouth fell open in horror.

"I take it back," he said, wincing as she took a bite. "You're half goblin."

"No taste," Natasha repeated. She pointed at the box of Cheez Balls. "What is it?"

Clint opened it for her and let her take one to try. Her eyes widened in surprise as the ball melted in her mouth, then she grinned and reached for more.

"Is good."

"I know, right," Clint said, taking his own handful. He flopped down onto his back and tossed the balls up and into his mouth, trying to get them higher and higher each time. He didn't miss one, and turned to see if Natasha had noticed, but she was looking at something at the edge of the clearing.

Clint followed her gaze and saw a figure wheeling a bike towards them. He squinted and recognised who it was straight away, then immediately felt embarrassed that he was only in his boxers still. He glanced back at Natasha to see if she felt uncomfortable too, but she was too tense to notice.

"Clint?" the person asked, coming closer.

"Hey, Laura," Clint greeted. He sat up again, dusting his cheesy hands off on his boxers. "How'd you find us?"

Laura dropped her bike and stood over them. "I asked your brother. He was in town and told me a couple of places you might be."

Clint couldn't think of one reason why Barney would be in town, but he shrugged it off. "Oh, that's cool. We just went swimming."

"Oh cool, you guys aren't fighting anymore!" Laura said. She sat down across from Clint, smiling widely at Natasha. "I'm Laura."

Clint suddenly realised that in all the excitement of Natasha being back, he hadn't actually told her that he had kind of made friends with Laura. He also hadn't expected Laura to come looking for him, though, so he couldn't really be to blame.

Natasha's face said otherwise. "Natalia."

"I know," Laura said, then quickly started to backtrack. "I mean, not that I like, know you or anything, because I don't. I just meant that I know your name. From hearing it."

Natasha blinked at Laura, then turned to Clint. _Is she our friend?_

"_So_ cool" Laura gushed. "You guys can sign. I'm so jealous of that, it's like a secret conversation."

"Yea," Clint said, answering them both.

"Look, Natalia," Laura began again. "I'm sorry for the way Clarissa treated you. Me and some of the other girls left the group. I should've stood up to her earlier."

Natasha remembered little about Clarissa, even after Clint had explained it all to her. She nodded at Laura and smiled tightly but didn't say anything, and the three of them fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence.

"We just hang out here sometimes" Clint said eventually. "We both live on this road."

"I live in town" Laura said. "It's not so bad. I bet it's nicer out here. Oh!"

She moved slightly, plunging her hands into the grass, and a second later she held her finger up to Natasha's face. "Look, Natalia. A ladybug! They're supposed to be good luck."

Natasha stared at the ladybug as though she had never see anything so small in her life. Clint held his breath, wondering if it had been a bad idea to invite Laura to hang out with them without checking with Natasha first. The ladybug crawled along Laura's finger for a moment before fluttering off into the sky, vanishing in seconds. Natasha grinned, a real, genuine smile, and Clint knew it would be okay.

"Cool" she said, and turned to Clint to see if he had seen.

The sun created a glow across her face that made her hair look golden. Clint felt that same feeling burst into his chest as he returned her smile. He didn't understand it, yet, but he liked it. The sun was warm, and the afternoon still long. He could stare at her face for the rest of his life.

Things were _good_. He wanted to bottle this feeling forever and never let it go. He threw a Cheez Ball at Natasha's head and listened to her laugh instead. As long as he could keep her laughing, he thought everything would be okay.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**just a little more happiness for our babes. (also, harry potter belongs completely to jk rowling!)**

**hope you enjoy and please review! **

* * *

Edith slid a fifty-dollar note across the table to push under the edge of Clint's plate. "Pocket money."

Clint glanced at the note, chewing his eggs slowly. The most pocket money Clint had ever received was a couple of dollars for mowing the lawns. They didn't really have money to be handing out for chores, anyway, so it had been a while. The note was definitely suspicious.

"Hey, no fair!" Barney cried from the other end of the table. "He didn't do anything!"

Edith pulled out another note and passed it to Barney, who snatched it eagerly from her hand. "I didn't forget yours, don't worry."

"Sweet" Barney crooned, tucking the note straight into his jean pocket.

"You don't have to give us that much, mum," Clint said. He ignored Barney's glare and fiddled with the corner of the note. "You should use it for something else."

He felt really guilty taking the money when they hadn't had fresh groceries for the past two weeks. The eggs that Clint had woken up to had shocked him enough, but he had been too hungry to question it. Now that Edith was handing out money like it was paper, though, alarm bells were going off in his head.

She laughed. "Clint, honey, don't worry about it. I've been working more so we have more. I want to give us all what we want, okay. Don't worry."

"Okay," Clint agreed, relaxing. He had noticed that Edith was gone more often than before in recent weeks. Sometimes when he got home from school, he didn't see her again until he was ready for bed. "Thanks."

"Yea, thanks" Barney echoed.

Edith stood from the table and ruffled Clint's hair as she passed him. She dumped her plate in the sink and then grabbed her handbag, swinging it over her shoulder. "I'll be home late tonight. Pulling some more overtime. You can order takeout."

"Yes!" Barney cheered as Edith placed yet another bill on the counter. They boys looked at each other and said in unison, "Pizza!"

Clint couldn't help but smile. His mum was working so hard to provide for them, and it felt nice after going without for all of his life. CPS would start to leave them alone if Edith had a well-paying job, or could at least provide evidence that they were no longer living in poverty.

"Dad will be home tomorrow" Edith told them, moving towards the door. Clint felt his stomach drop. "He's had a very good time in Oklahoma. He thinks we might finally have enough savings to buy the butchers in town."

Harold had had his eye on the butchers for years, but had never held a job long enough to save anything. That coupled with his arrest record and knack for criminal activity had made buying the business a little difficult. Clint should have realised that he would be around more often if Edith was working too. There would be no more interstate travel, or months where they didn't see him. If Harold bought the butchers, he wouldn't have to leave again.

Clint suddenly wished that Edith had never found a job. He would give her the fifty back in a heartbeat if it meant that his dad wouldn't be around everyday. Clint didn't know if he would be able to stand actually living in the same house as him for longer than a couple of days. It had always been just him and his mum and Barney, and he liked it that way.

"What about another car?" Barney asked. Barney had managed to get his drivers permit, but couldn't actually drive anywhere when Harold took the only car they owned. Clint knew it was driving him crazy, not being able to do what he wanted when he wanted.

"One think at a time, Barnes" Edith laughed.

"Hey mum, can Natasha stay the night?" Clint suddenly remembered that he was supposed to ask her so Natasha didn't have to sneak in anyway. Ivan was out again; Clint was beginning to wonder if he was ever around anymore, or if Natasha spent more time on her own. Not that Clint minded, because if Ivan wasn't home, Natasha wasn't getting hurt.

"Clint and Natasha, sitting in a tree," Barney began to sing, a giant smirk on his face. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Barney, cut it out" Clint moaned. "Mum make him stop."

Barney sniggered. "She's pretty cute ya know."

Clint rolled his eyes and finished his last mouthful of eggs. He wasn't going to even think about Natasha being cute, because he still wasn't sure why he had thought it in the first place. Barney was just trying to get a rise out of him.

"You love her," Barney sang, holding his hands to his heart dramatically.

"She's just my friend," Clint stressed. "Don't be weird."

"Well," Barney said, now talking around the food in his mouth. "If_ I_ were you, I would snatch her up before someone else does. I know she's like, twelve or whatever, but it won't be long before some other boy wants her."

"She's not an object" Clint snapped. "And she's still eleven."

Barney's eyes went wide in shock. "Oh, so you're _in love _in love with her."

Clint groaned. "Mum!"

"That's enough, Barney," Edith warned. "You two better behave."

She pressed a kiss to Clint's head, then Barney's before she walked out the door. Clint stood up in a huff and took his plate to wash in the sink. Barney's comments had made him angry. He didn't love Natasha; she was just his best friend and probably his favourite person in the whole world. It would be weird for it to be anything else.

He snagged his backpack on his way out the door, glaring holes into Barney's head. His mum was long gone, the dust from her friend's car still lingering in the air. Natasha wasn't on the road, but it was the last day of school and she hadn't been sure she would make it. Clint didn't ask why, just promised that he would meet her in the clearing that afternoon.

He began the walk to school slowly. It was the last day of sixth grade, and after summer vacation they would begin attending the combined Junior and Senior High School. They would actually have a couple of classes together, and whilst Clint was usually worried about starting a new year of school, this time didn't feel as bad.

Even though Natasha wasn't going to be there, he didn't feel worried. He felt excited for vacation, and couldn't wait to hang out with Natasha nearly every day. He just had to get through the next few hours, and then he would be free.

* * *

The arrow thunked easily into the bullseye. Clint lowered his arm and frowned at it, even though it was a perfect shot. His targets were becoming too easy. He needed to think of a way to make it more difficult, or else he would never get any better.

Natasha popped up beside him, making her presence known. "_U menya khoroshiye novosti_."

Clint didn't know where she had come from. She hadn't met him after school, and he had completely lost track of time since he had been out with his bow. Even if his hearing was perfect, he didn't think he would ever be able to know exactly where she was. She was just that quiet.

"What good news?" Clint asked, suspicious.

"Guess" Natasha said. She sat herself at his feet, placing the first Harry Potter book beside her and grinning up at Clint.

Clint thought about it is he walked over to retrieve his arrow and makeshift target. He put the arrow back in the quiver and slung the target over his shoulder. "Um, I don't know. Give me a clue."

"Is good" Natasha said, signing it too in case he was too far away to hear properly.

"That's not really a clue" Clint mumbled. He grabbed his backpack from where he had left it under a tree and made his way back to where Natasha sat, dumping his things and sprawling out beside her. "You got an A on your maths test."

"_Nyet_" Natasha said. "Try again."

"Ummm, they finally found your species of goblin?"

Natasha slapped his arm. "I am not goblin."

"Just tell me, Nat" Clint moaned. "I can't wait anymore."

Natasha bit her lip, still grinning like mad. It made Clint smile too, even though he didn't know what she was so happy about.

"I not going back to Russia," she said, her eyes bright. "I _am_ not going back to Russia. Not until next vacation."

Clint stared at her. "Not for Russian Christmas?"

"_Nyet_" Natasha confirmed, all but bouncing on the spot. "I go for all of vacation next year. But nothing this year, and no more missing school."

"Oh my god" Clint said. "That's… that's amazing! Why did it change?"

"Teacher of new school does not think is good to miss so much work" Natasha explained. "So Ivan does not want to be suspicious. He take me in summer vacation instead. I think he want to open ballet studio in town."

Clint couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that this was possibly going to be their last summer vacation together, but it made more sense for Ivan to take her back to Russia during those free months instead of at the start of the year. It meant that he wouldn't have to be at school on his own anymore, either. Besides, Natasha was too happy for him to let it ruin his mood.

"Ballet studio?" he asked as he realised what she had actually said.

"_Da_. For me to train during year," she told him. "Other girls will dance too, but I will be only one fighting. They bring new instructor for me."

"Huh" Clint said. He leant back on his elbows, regarding Natasha closely. "Wonder why they decided to do that."

She shrugged. "Maybe to make me better. I don't care."

"That's really great, Tash" Clint said honestly. "My dad might be buying a butchers. Imagine that, two crooks in business."

Natasha screwed her nose up at him. "How?"

"Mum's been working so much lately, so we have savings now," Clint told her. "And he always wanted it, so. He might be around more."

"_Mudak_," Natasha muttered. Clint didn't ask her what it meant.

He let himself fall onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. He didn't really want to talk about his father when she had just told him some pretty exciting news. After a second Natasha lay down too, her head propped up on her chin as she regarded him seriously.

"What?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

"I like your eyes" Natasha said decisively.

"Uh, thanks" Clint mumbled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. She was still looking at him, and he laughed uncomfortably. "_What_?"

Natasha regarded him for another moment, her face soft. Then she rolled onto her own back, cushioning her head on one of Clint's folded arms. "Nothing."

Clint didn't know what to think. Her hair tickled against his cheek, and he could smell her strawberry shampoo. He didn't know when they had become so comfortable with touching each other; maybe they always had been, and he just hadn't realised. But he noticed it more now, especially when Natasha curled herself around him like this.

"Do you ever think how weird it is that we're just kids," Clint started, staring up at the clear blue sky. Thinking about his dad and Ivan had made him kind of annoyed. "Like, you're still eleven and I'm just twelve and sometimes it feels like I should be a hundred, at least."

"Not eleven for long" Natasha sang, even though her birthday was still a little over five months away.

"But do you get what I mean?" Clint said. He didn't really know if he was making sense, but pushed on. "We've been through so much shit."

"Days like this, I feel best" Natasha said softly. "I feel like I am just normal. Like a kid. Will not last forever."

"I know" Clint agreed, just as soft. "Guess we better make the most of it, huh?"

"Hmm" Natasha hummed. She lifted the book up above her head, opening it to the first page. "I need to read again."

"Can you read it out loud?" Clint asked. He had never read the Harry Potter books himself, but remembered what happened in the first two from when Natasha had told him all about it. Now, she was the one who didn't know what happened. Clint had explained to her that she loved the series, and had even shown her the Prisoner of Azkaban, which he had kept in his room. She was eager to re-read them, and had somehow convinced the librarian to let her keep the first book for the whole of vacation.

He felt Natasha nod and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth that seemed to envelop him all over. It wasn't really the start to vacation that he had imagined, but they had months to spar and practise archery and ride bikes together. One afternoon laying in the sun wasn't going to ruin anything. Clint smiled.

Natasha began slowly, her voice husky and unsure around some of the words. "Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that…"

The day stretched on before them. Besides, he could listen to her voice all day.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**this chapter hints at potential noncon so please don't read if that's not your thing!**

**the next chapter is going to jump forward a few years, so this is the last time these kids will be actual kids. the plan for this story is that it will follow our babes up until their recruitment at shield. then, i plan on continuing their story in a separate fic (this will roughly follow them from iron man 2 - infinity war)**

**the third and final installment of this series will probably just be a prologue. and because i love them too much, i'll definitely be writing a lot of one-shots and missing scenes in separate fics :)**

**i hope this interests you! and i hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know! thanks for all of your support x**

* * *

The new school year hit them full force, and before they knew it November was upon them, bringing with it a gradual change in weather. It wasn't freezing yet, but the nights were growing colder and there was the occasional frost in the morning. It would only be a matter of time before it started snowing for real.

Natasha turned twelve on Thanksgiving Day, and since they had the day off school Clint bought them tickets to see the first Harry Potter movie in the afternoon. He wasn't into it as much as she was, but the movie was still one of the best he had ever seen, and the look of awe on her face made it worth every cent. For once, Clint wasn't worried about what everything cost; Edith was still dishing out crazy amounts of pocket money, so he bought them each popcorn and soda and ice cream as well.

All in all, things were going okay. Harold was around more often, but still split his time between his family and other jobs. Clint had only had two black eyes since May, and Natasha only five panic attacks. They had a couple of classes together at their new school and shared the same lunch period. It felt mostly normal, in a weird kind of way.

Except, there was something wrong that Clint couldn't quite put his finger on. Ever since Natasha's birthday she had been a little more withdrawn, even though she didn't have to worry about being whisked off to Russia this time. She still mostly seemed the same; there was just an edge to her he had never seen before. Clint didn't know if he was imagining it or not, but he was sure that he knew Natasha well enough by now to know when she wasn't telling him something.

As they sat outside the counsellor's office a week later he asked her, knocking his shoulder against hers. _Everything okay?_

She was trying to catch up on math work she had missed in first period, having arrived to school late. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and shrugged, only glancing briefly at his hands to see what he was saying. "Is fine. Why you ask?"

"Dunno" Clint said out loud, since she was clearly concentrating on trying to decipher his notes. "You seem a little off."

Even though he couldn't see her face, he could picture her rolling her eyes. "I am tired."

There was no elaboration, not that Natasha ever really supplied any. Clint wasn't happy with the answer because he had seen Natasha tired and it didn't look like this. He was about to say something else when the door swung open and Miss Breslow poked her head around the frame, grinning.

"Hey Clint, you're up."

Clint jumped off his chair and followed her back into her office. They had tried him with a different counsellor at the new school, but the man had only lasted two weeks before Clint requested Miss Breslow. He still didn't really like talking to her, but had an appreciation for her now that he hadn't when he was younger. Their sessions were monthly, now, and she had been more than happy to make the trek to the junior and senior campus to see him.

He sat opposite with her without being asked to. She pulled out her latest notes, uncapped a pen and leant back in her chair, following the same routine they had had since he had first been forced to see her all those years ago. He found comfort in it, and relaxed into the chair.

"Anything new happening?" Miss Breslow asked.

"Not really" Clint shrugged. "My mum is working a lot, which is really good because now my dad is home more and we can afford better things."

He didn't like lying to her, but assumed that CPS would be keeping a close eye on his dad now that he was mostly back living in Iowa.

"That's great," Miss Breslow said sincerely. "How about school? Feeling a bit better about the new classes?"

"Yea, the teachers are alright" Clint admitted. "I guess I was just nervous before. But Natasha and I have a few classes together, so that makes it good too."

"And how's Natasha?" Miss Breslow suddenly asked.

It was a change in their routine. Occasionally Miss Breslow inquired about Natasha, but never directly, and she _always_ called her Natalia. Clint had never seen her take real interest in his friend before, and it only made his feeling that something was wrong stronger.

"Um, good, I guess" he stuttered. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hand through his hair, fighting the urge to turn back and look at her through the office window. "I guess she's pretty used to American life now."

"That's good," Miss Breslow said, smiling. "So you had a little anxiety last time we spoke and it was reflecting in your grades. I know you said you're feeling better, but your marks are still a little low."

Clint blinked at her. He was a little confused about the sudden changes in topic. He hated when people did that, because it always made him worried that he hadn't heard a part of the conversation. Miss Breslow seemed distracted today.

"I struggle with hearing the teachers" Clint told her. Even though he hated to admit it, at least Miss Breslow could speak to them on his behalf. "I think my writing is bad because I didn't learn until I was like, six. Math just sucks." He thought for a second, before adding carefully, "But Natasha is great at math, so she's helping me."

Miss Breslow stared at the paper in front of her. Then, she abruptly pushed it aside and leant towards him, resting her hands on the table.

"I care about your wellbeing, Clint" she said seriously, and his heart rate suddenly spiked. "I remember when I first met you and you were just an angry little kid. You've really changed since then."

"Uh, thanks" Clint said, feeling awkward. He had no idea where she was going with any of this.

"Sometimes I think you're not telling the whole truth, and that's okay!" she said hastily, noticing the look on his face. "It can be hard to talk to an adult when maybe they haven't listened to you in the past."

This was getting way deeper than anything they had ever spoken about before. Clint kind of wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He wanted to go back to talking about his average grades and his feelings about school, not whatever this was.

"Do you remember," Miss Breslow said slowly, staring at her hands on the desk. Clint strained to hear her. "When you came to me and asked if the police could be payed off?"

Clint held his breath, nodding carefully.

"I don't think you were being entirely hypothetical" she told him, meeting his gaze.

Clint really felt like telling her the truth. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue, bursting to be heard, but he couldn't betray Natasha's trust like that. He had actually forgotten about that conversation, but it all came back in a rush, and suddenly he felt much like he had back then; like he was balancing on the edge of something really dangerous.

"It was just a movie," he said to her. He shrugged, trying to appear calm. "I was just a kid."

"I'm going to be honest with you, because I think you can help here," Miss Breslow said firmly. "I've always felt that maybe something was happening at home with you, but I could only do so much. I think we both know that something is definitely happening at home with Natasha."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked. The room seemed too small, suddenly, and every breath he took didn't feel like it was doing anything. He fought to stay calm.

"I've been keeping an eye on her, too" Miss Breslow admitted. "I only met her uncle once, but…"

She trailed off, staring over his shoulder to where he knew Natasha was sitting outside. He didn't turn around. Instead, he stood up, blocking her view and surprising himself. All he knew was that he was mad at what she was suggesting, even if it was the truth.

"Maybe you should ask Natasha" he said icily. "I'm not being a courier, or a spy."

Miss Breslow's eyes widened. "Clint, I didn't mean to offend you."

He respected her too much to let it change his opinion of her, because she was just trying to look out for them. It was her job, after all. But he was done talking about it, and didn't want to think about how someone else had noticed that they weren't like most kids.

"I'll see you next time," he said, and left before she could protest.

Outside the office, Natasha was still copying equations into her book. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow as he snatched his backpack off the ground.

"Okay?" she asked, packing her own things away.

"Never better" Clint mumbled, then shook his head to try and clear the anger. "C'mon, let's go stuff our faces with Cheez Balls."

Natasha didn't ask questions, for which he was thankful. She just walked beside him all the way home, trusting that she didn't need to know what had upset him. Clint had never been more grateful for her silent support.

* * *

"He and Hermione were waiting, listening," Natasha read slowly. "Their nerves jan… jangling." She glanced over at Clint. "What it mean?"

"It just means they're nervous," Clint explained. He was laying on his back across from her, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the sun. "Like, they feel their nerves mixing altogether and it rattles them all over."

Natasha considered this for a moment, then looked back to the book. "Okay."

She started reading again. She was already up to the Prisoner of Azkaban, which was good because Clint wanted to get her the next one for Christmas. Neither of them had realised that the fourth book had came out until they had seen it at the mall. He liked listening to her read, he really did, but he was beginning to get a bit bored.

"Cheez me," he requested, opening his mouth wide.

Natasha plucked a Cheez Ball from the tub at her side and launched it towards him without taking her eyes off the book. He only had to twist his head a little to catch it in his mouth, and raised his arms into the air in victory.

"You missed it" he whined a second later when he noticed that Natasha was still reading.

"You catch, I know" she deadpanned. "You _always_ catch."

Clint couldn't help but feel a little smug. "Wanna bet?"

She finally looked at him, eyebrow raised. "I have almost finished book."

"It'll be there tomorrow," Clint said. "C'mon, it'll be fun."

"No bets" Natasha finally relented, setting the book aside. "You will always catch, I know it."

"We could break a world record or something," Clint said. He laid still, eyes wide in excitement. "Throw another."

Natasha threw the small ball in a high arc, straight into Clint's waiting mouth. He sat up, waggling his eyebrows at her as she smiled.

"I stand on tree," Natasha said enthusiastically. She took the tub of Cheez Balls with her, balancing on the highest point of the fallen trunk that she could manage. Then, without warning, she threw another ball and watched it easily meet its intended target.

"I'm good, right?" Clint cheered, jumping to his feet.

"Maybe I am good throw?" Natasha teased, and threw two of the balls at his head in quick succession. Clint had to jump to catch them both, but he still managed it, and bowed as he landed on his feet.

He didn't see the one that hit him squarely on the forehead. Natasha giggled, already holding the next one in the palm of her hand.

"Okay, we're both good," Clint told her. "Let's make this a little more interesting."

Clint didn't know how long they ran around throwing the Cheez Balls at each other to catch, but by the end of the tub his stomach hurt from both laughing too hard and eating too much. His favourite move had been hanging upside down off a tree branch as Natasha, perched above him, threw them down in lots of two. He was still a little dizzy from the rush of blood to his head.

Natasha sighed, fiddling with the empty tub. "I should go."

"Oh," Clint said, feeling his excitement die down into disappointment. It probably was later than he realised, but he really didn't want to have to go home yet. "Yea, I guess."

"Uncle Ivan is…" Natasha trailed off, staring out towards the gravel road.

She didn't finish her sentence, so Clint took a guess. "He gonna be home tonight?"

Natasha nodded quickly, the movement jerky. Clint still couldn't shake the feeling that something was really off with her, even if she had been acting normally minutes ago. For the past couple of weeks the feeling had crept over him, and he wanted nothing more than to hug Natasha tightly and tell her that whatever was happening was going to be okay.

"I…" she said, letting out a shaky breath. She glanced at him quickly, and then began packing her things back into her backpack. "I should go."

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Clint asked.

"_Da_," Natasha said, her back to him. "I am tired."

Clint was going to say something about how he didn't believe that for a second, and then he saw her bring her left hand over to drag her nails down her right arm. He hadn't seen her do that one for a while; without thinking, he leant forward and snatched her hand away before she could do it again.

She fell into him slightly but didn't fight like he had expected her to. He held her wrist carefully, trying to meet her gaze because something was _definitely _wrong. He couldn't be just making it up.

"Hey, whatever's going on right now, you gotta remember that you can tell me an –"

Clint was cut off by Natasha leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. Everything around him seemed to slow down. He couldn't think around the feeling of her lips, softer than he ever would have thought possible. He let go of her wrist and moved his hand to her shoulder as though on autopilot, and it was a little weird and a little awkward and a lot nice.

She pulled away after a few seconds, her cheeks slightly flushed. Clint tried to remember how to breathe as they just stared at each other, both too scared to make the next move. He had never kissed anyone before, and he had never really imagined that his first time would be with Natasha of all people.

Finally, Clint felt some rational thought return to his brain. He didn't want to break the bubble they seemed to be in; everything around them still felt slow and muted, and Natasha was the brightest thing for miles.

"Tash…"

Natasha drew in a deep breath. "He not have all my firsts."

Clint blinked at her. "What?"

"I won't let him," she repeated, her voice shaky. "I want you to be first."

Clint swallowed thickly as he realised there was something a lot worse going on than what he had previously thought. He tried to think of what else she could mean, but she was making it too easy to read between the lines. He felt sick. He felt angry and sad and like he wanted to punch Ivan in his stupid face. He didn't even know what to say to her.

So, he kissed her again. It was still awkward, but that familiar feeling of warmth spread right through his chest and down to the tips of his toes. Natasha smiled against his lips, and then they were both laughing, though Clint really wanted to cry. Natasha rested her forehead against his shoulder for a minute, and he gave her the time to collect herself.

"I have to go," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back. "But I don't want you to."

She didn't answer him. Natasha stood fluidly, scooped up her backpack and began to walk away without another word. Clint watched her go, noticing the way she was holding herself together, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

When she was out of sight he stood up, set up his target and began shooting arrows, one after the other, pretending it was Ivan until it was getting dark and his fingers were bleeding. Exhausted, he retrieved his things and made his way to the gravel road, only stopping once to look towards Natasha's house.

He couldn't believe they had kissed. Not even once, but twice. He had thought it would be too weird, had never even believed it would ever happen. Just thinking about it made that warm feeling return, even as his heart ached for Natasha and whatever she was facing. As he walked home, it was like a light had switched on his head; he couldn't stop thinking about her laugh and her smile and the cheesy kisses they had just shared. Natasha snoring, Natasha crying, Natasha kicking his butt.

He stood on the porch steps, staring at the front door. Maybe Barney had been right.

Maybe he _was_ in love with Natasha.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**sorry for the later than usual update! this chapter mainly explains some stuff that has happened in the time jump between this chapter and the last one. our kids aren't kids anymore :( but i'm excited for things to really start happening now!**

**hope you enjoy and please review! x**

* * *

**Iowa, 2005**

**January **

Clint glanced up as he noticed the door to the studio open, watching as a steady stream of girls left the building in small groups. He couldn't hear them, but he could tell they were giggling from the looks on their faces. A persistent flutter of snow dampened their huge coats, and Clint didn't need to be outside to know how cold it was.

He started the truck up, feeling the heat return slowly to the small space. One girl glanced over towards him, and once she realised who it was she smiled and waved. Clint waved back, though not as enthusiastically as she had. He had only met Rachel last year, after she became friends with Laura, but she seemed nice enough.

He felt the thud of Natasha's bag being thrown into the back of the truck a second before she flung herself into the passenger seat. He dragged his eyes away from Rachel to look over at Natasha, who was only wearing her leotard and tights and looked half frozen from the short walk to the truck.

"Cold?" he asked.

Natasha was already tugging at the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. "You should ask Rachel out."

Clint shrugged out of his hoodie and passed it to her, scowling. "I don't like Rachel like _that_."

"She is nice girl," Natasha mumbled. She pulled the hoodie over her head and balled her hands up in the front pocket. "She is pretty."

"We're not having this conversation today," Clint muttered. "Seatbelt on."

Natasha pouted but did as she was told, pulling the belt across her lap and then stretching her legs out to rest her feet on the dash. Clint was past the point of telling her to stop. She never listened anyway.

Clint pulled the car out of the parking space and started down the road towards home. Technically, he was still a couple of months off being legally allowed to drive on his own, but he hadn't been caught yet. Besides, Barney had surprised him with a fake ID for Christmas, so if he ever were pulled over he would probably be fine.

Barney's knack for forgery was only a minor detail compared to everything that had happened in the last four years. Clint and Natasha were both fifteen now, with Clint not far from his sixteenth birthday. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had met that scared little girl on the gravel road. He felt like he should be a lot older than he was.

In four years, Clint had really toned up. Harold rarely hit him anymore, instead choosing to act like his son didn't exist at all. Clint didn't care. In his opinion, Harold wasn't his father; it had taken him a long time to realise it, but once he had it was a huge relief. There were still moments where he was afraid of Harold and the unpredictability that came with him. And yet, in four years Harold had been the only person in Clint's life that had stayed exactly the same, and it terrified him.

Surprisingly, the biggest disappointment of the last few years had been Edith. At first, Clint and Barney had accepted all of the money she gave them without question. Then they bought a new car, then the butchers in town like Harold had always wanted. Things had been going well; Clint had even thought that they were a normal family, with normal parents who provided for their children and had normal jobs.

However, it soon became clear that Edith wasn't telling the whole truth; one month they were buying new clothes and filling the pantry with gourmet foods, and the next they were living without hot water for weeks at a time because they couldn't pay the bills.

She was a gambler. Clint didn't know what she gambled on and he didn't care; he just knew that she was good at it, and when she won, life was great. When she didn't, they fell back below the poverty line pretty quickly. Like everything in life, Clint had just adapted to it. It hurt, though. Now, she cared about the money more than she cared about her sons.

Then there was Natasha. Clint didn't know what he had expected to happen after the kiss they shared that day in the woods, but he had thought that at least _something _would. She had changed afterwards, becoming a lot harder than he had ever seen her. There was a fire in her eyes now that was only growing over time, and Clint was still in love with every inch of her being, even if she refused to acknowledge it.

In four years, she had been back to Russia three times. Two of those times she had returned with no memory, and Clint had been forced to hit it out of her, screaming at her until her eyes cleared and she wrapped herself around him again. It was hard and painful and yet still worth every agonising second. Four years had strengthened their friendship beyond what Clint had ever imagined.

She danced now in the studio Ivan had purchased in town with a bunch of other local girls. She sparred him in the woods, pushing him until he felt like his body was going to split in two. She climbed in through his window some nights and curled up beside him like she used to. It was achingly familiar, and yet she had changed _just_ enough for there to be an edge.

"You are coming to recital?" Natasha asked, breaking the silence.

"Yea, if you want me to," Clint answered. Even if she didn't want him to, he would still be there. It would be the first time he would see her dance, now that Ivan was letting her join the other girls.

"_Da_" Natasha said. "Of course I want you there. I am best."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I don't doubt that, Tash."

"Ivan say Yelena is best in Russia" Natasha blurted. "Is only best because I am not there."

Clint had heard about Yelena a lot in the last couple of years. She was apparently Natasha's main competition in the Red Room, the organisation that was training young girls to be killers. Every time Natasha returned to America, she had something new to complain about Yelena. She didn't like sharing the attention.

"Well, you're the best here, so," Clint said. He indicated off the main road and pushed the truck a little faster along the back roads. "You don't have to worry about Yelena."

"Ivan only keep me here because he know if I am in Russia, I kill her."

"Good thing you're not in Russia then" Clint muttered. Natasha had never admitted to killing anyone yet, but Clint had his suspicions. She had had a few nightmares that had shaken even him, and it disgusted him to think that she was being used and manipulated in that way.

Natasha rolled her head around to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You are in bad mood."

"I'm not," Clint said defensively. They reached the gravel road and he stopped the truck, putting it in park. "Maybe I just don't like murder talk on a Friday afternoon."

"_Izvinite_" Natasha said sincerely. "Sometimes… is hard to be second."

Clint didn't bother telling her that she wasn't second to anyone. Ivan had dragged her to America when she was just a kid because he liked her the most, which was creepy and made Clint's skin crawl, but still. If Yelena was any real competition, then Clint was sure that Natasha would be whisked off and he would never see her again.

He opened the door and stepped out into the frosty air. Goose bumps rose over the skin on his arms, his breath fogging out in a thick cloud in front of him as he walked around the front of the car to the passenger side. Natasha had already slid across the middle and was now sitting behind the wheel, grinning brightly.

"Seatbelt" Clint reminded her as he sat and closed the door. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Natasha laughed but buckled up anyway. She put the truck into drive and slammed her foot down on the accelerator, sending them skidding across the icy road for a minute before the wheels gained traction. He was used to it by now. Natasha drove like she did everything else; hard, fast, and like it was the last thing she would do.

She settled into the seat and slowed down a little, smirking at him. Clint felt his heart flip at the look on her face, smiling back softly. They were just friends. Natasha had made it clear, and even though it killed him a little, he could live with it as long as she was by his side.

* * *

Natasha winced as she toed her tennis shoes off, and Clint glanced up from the TV in time to see the broken and bloody nails on her feet.

"Ouch" he said, sitting up from where he had slouched against the pillows on his bed. "Let me help."

"Is fine," Natasha insisted, but she didn't stop him from getting up to fetch the first aid kit he now kept in his wardrobe for moments like this.

He sat back on the bed, patting his lap. Natasha shuffled further onto the bed and placed one foot on his thigh, nose scrunched up as he examined the ruined nails. He had realised pretty quickly that dancing was a lot more brutal than he had originally thought.

"Gross" he muttered. Most of the nails on her right foot were bruised, but it was the big toe that was bleeding. Clint took some antiseptic and began to carefully clean the blood from around the nail. Natasha didn't flinch, even though he knew it would sting.

"Is pointe shoes" Natasha told him, resting back on her elbows. "Too small now."

"You probably shouldn't be dancing in them" Clint said. Once the blood had been cleaned away, he inspected the broken nail carefully. It would probably fall off soon. He began to wrap the worst toes loosely in gauze, allowing air to circulate so that she wouldn't get an infection.

"I know" Natasha huffed. "I think is part of training."

"Everything's a part of your training" Clint grumbled. He swapped her feet over, relieved to see that the left one wasn't as bad as the right. The worst part was her ankle, which looked swollen and was beginning to bruise. "What happened?"

"I twist it" Natasha said casually. "Land wrong after grand jeté."

"Obviously you kept dancing" Clint said.

"Obviously" Natasha teased, smiling softly.

He gently wrapped her ankle in a compression bandage before packing up the rest of the kit. By the time he came back to the bed, Natasha was already curled up on the side she had long ago claimed as her own, regarding her doll with wary eyes.

Clint climbed over her and settled on the other half of his double bed. The small TV on the opposite wall was still playing an afternoon movie, so he began to flick through the channels to try and find something a little more enjoyable to watch. Even though Edith's gambling made him mad, he had to admit that it had its perks; a new bed and a TV in his room had been something that Clint had never thought he would have.

"Yulia is like Yelena" Natasha said.

"She's a mini-Natasha" Clint said, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye. "You told me Yelena was blonde."

"Her _name_ is like Yelena" Natasha elaborated. The doll was still in pretty good condition considering how long she had had it for, but she had never had much time to actually play with it. Clint still kept it in his wardrobe, and Natasha often used it to help her calm down when she was feeling anxious or stressed.

"You can change the name," Clint said as he finally settled on a new channel. He flicked the subtitles on and leant back, arms across his chest. "It's just a doll."

Natasha considered this for a moment, then shook her head. "_Nyet_. Is okay."

Clint shrugged. Natasha was still wearing his hoodie, and she snuggled down into it with the doll clutched to her chest. He thought she might fall asleep, even though it was only mid-afternoon, but then she rolled over until her thigh was pressed up against his.

_It's almost your birthday_, she signed, Yulia tucked up under one arm.

_It's like, two months away_, Clint replied.

_I'm excited_, Natasha admitted, and he couldn't help but smile with her. _I got you something_.

That surprised him. Natasha didn't have a part-time job, and Ivan never gave her anything, especially not money. She had never given him a birthday present before, and he couldn't help but wonder what it could be.

_You have to tell me_, Clint signed, then knocked his shoulder against her as she shook her head no. _That's not fair! You're keeping me in suspense_.

_It's a surprise for a reason, bird brain_, Natasha teased. _I hope you like it_.

_I'll love it_, Clint said. _I'll love anything you give me_.

Natasha's face shuttered off for a second, and Clint mentally kicked himself. Natasha was even worse with feelings now than she had been when she was a kid, and he knew that his own feelings for her scared her more than anything else. It was a difficult situation for both of them, but they had been working through it for long enough now that it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

_You should ask Rachel out_, Natasha eventually signed.

Clint couldn't get mad at her for it. _You know I'm not going to ask Rachel out._

Natasha bit her lip, hands hovering above her chest. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. He knew she meant well, because Rachel was a really nice person and he enjoyed talking to her. Though Laura didn't hang out with them as much anymore, she had introduced them to Rachel last year and they all got along well enough. He just didn't see anything more coming out of it.

_I feel like we've had this conversation before_, Natasha said.

_Yea_, Clint agreed. _I think we have_.

Natasha stared at him, then slowly reached out and squeezed his hand. He entwined their fingers and she sighed, settling against the pillows and closing her eyes. He watched her for a moment, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, then moved his grip to encircle her wrist.

Some things never changed. He looked back at the TV but couldn't concentrate on what was happening. He would be sixteen soon; one year closer to finishing school, to being free from his parents and out on his own. A huge part of him couldn't wait for the day he finally graduated, but a smaller part was worried about everything that could happen before then. There was an infinite amount of seconds stretching out before him; he knew it would only take one of them to change everything.

It had been four years, and things still weren't exactly how Clint wanted them. He was happy to wait, though. Whatever came next would surely be worth it.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

i'm not sure why i keep hurting my lil beans :( this chapter has a the teeniest mention of a wound, not graphic!  
this chapter was going to be a lot longer, so i split it in half! look out for part 2 a bit sooner than my usual update schedule :)

hope you enjoy and thank you for all of your comments and kudos and support, you guys are the best x

* * *

**February**

The freckles looked like two eyes, almost perfectly parallel to each other. Clint uncapped his pen and drew a little smile beneath them, then circled it to make a face. It looked a lot creepier than he would have thought, but when he rubbed the skin the pen didn't budge.

Natasha bent to see what he was doing. "What is it?"

"S'posed to be a smiley face," Clint mumbled, and sat up. "Your freckles looked like eyes, okay, so I thought it would be cool. It's _terrifying_."

Natasha scrutinised the new mark on her thigh, grabbing the skin between her fingers and twisting it. When she let go there was a deep red mark.

"I like it" she declared. "I do you."

Clint rolled his eyes but handed her the pen. "Can't be visible, in case it doesn't come off."

"Mine is," she pointed out.

"Only because you have no pants on," Clint deadpanned, and Natasha smirked.

The bottoms of her tights were soaked from trudging through the snow in her old tennis shoes. Barney had taken the truck before Clint could, so they had had to walk home after ballet instead. Natasha had all but ripped the tights off when they got to his place, and sat in just her leotard instead while they waited for them to dry.

"Fine," she drawled, and narrowed her eyes as she searched his body for an acceptable place to draw on him. "Take off shirt."

"It's way too cold," Clint complained, but did it anyway. The space heater he was allowed to keep in his room now took too long to warm up. Goose bumps rose across his shoulders as his back became exposed to the cool air. He couldn't wait for summer.

Natasha put her right hand on his shoulder to steady herself and began to draw with her other hand. The pen stung a little as it got caught on his skin, though it was almost ticklish at the same time. He tried to turn his head to see what she was doing but couldn't see past her hair.

She shoved him away from her, grinning. Clint still couldn't see what she had drawn, no matter how far he twisted around. He was curious to find out, but one look at Natasha's face told him that she wasn't going to show him. He pulled his shirt back on instead. He would probably be able to see it in the mirror later.

_You don't want to know? _Natasha signed.

_I trust you_, Clint signed back. _I don't think you would draw something gross_.

_Maybe I would_, Natasha said, wiggling her eyebrows.

She was in a good mood today, more playful and light than she had been for a long time. He thought it was nice to see her acting like a normal teenager for a change. Sometimes, it could be like talking to a wall. Natasha had told him that the girls left back in Russia were like robots, and it made him sick to think of her being like that all of the time.

If she had stayed in Russia and he had never met her, she wouldn't even know that she liked sour worms and nerdy books. Clint was glad that she had these experiences, even if she didn't always remember it.

_Whatever_, Clint said. _Knowing you, it's probably a knife_.

Natasha huffed, her face steely. Clint didn't mean it in a bad way, but Natasha didn't always get those kinds of jokes. She didn't look too mad, just a little annoyed at him. She stood and crossed to where her tights were hanging over the space heater.

"I am not just spy" she said, pulling the tights on. She looked at him, her green eyes determined. "I like other things."

"It was a stupid joke," Clint said, feeling guilty. He hated that they kept stumbling into these awkward conversations. He had thought it was bad when they were kids, but talking about hard stuff had actually been a lot easier back then. "I'm sorry, Tash."

She shrugged and scooped her dance bag up, the strap digging into her bony shoulder. "To them, I am weapon. Sharp end of knife. To you…"

Clint frowned at her, unsure what she was getting at. "You're my best friend."

"I know is not enough."

Clint stared, not breaking eye contact. He didn't know where this was coming from, or why she had started thinking this way in the last few minutes. He had never told her exactly how deeply he cared for her, and she had shut him down last year anyway, after he had hinted that maybe something more could come from their friendship. But he had never said those three little words, even though he thought them nearly every time he saw her smile.

"You know that it's not about that," Clint said carefully. "We're always gonna be friends, Nat, no matter what."

"Is not fair," she said.

"I'm used to things not being fair," Clint drawled. "I… I care about you too much to let anything ruin this."

Natasha bit her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. "Maybe sometimes I think I am not me for me."

He couldn't understand what that would feel like, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to be with Natasha as more than just friends, but maybe the reason she had put a stop to it before it could start was because she didn't fully know herself.

"I'm not gonna ask you to ever put yourself second" Clint said. He didn't quite know how to express exactly what he wanted to say. "But maybe if we could try to –"

Natasha shook her head abruptly and moved towards the door. Clint groaned, feeling frustrated. Their nice and normal afternoon had been flipped on its head. Sometimes he wondered if they could ever have a day where things were just plain and boring.

He stopped her from leaving the room by putting his hand on the door gently. "We keep saying we've had this conversation before, but I don't think we really have."

"I said –"

"You told me last year that it was too dangerous for you to ever be in a relationship," Clint cut her off. "You didn't give me a chance to say my part."

"Is true" Natasha insisted. She pushed his hand away and stepped out the door before he could stop her a second time. "Drop it."

He let her go, his frustration and anger simmering beneath his skin. She was going to get wet feet again; he realised a minute too late that he had laid out his boots and a jumper for her. He debated taking them out to her, then changed his mind and slammed the bedroom door. She was being stubborn, and he would never push her into anything she didn't want, but he just wanted to be able to tell her the truth.

He lay down on the bed and turned the TV on instead, ready to melt his brain with trash reality shows for the next few hours.

* * *

At first, he wasn't sure why he woke up. He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes still half-closed, and rolled onto his side. A shiver ran up his spine and he groaned, tugging the doona around his shoulders tighter. A second later he sat up abruptly, squinting into the darkness.

The room had cooled significantly. Clint's window was wide open, letting rain and icy air in. He leant over and switched the lamp on, revealing a shivering and wet Natasha standing by the space heater. He frowned at her.

_You okay? _he signed, simultaneously pushing his hearing aids onto his ears. She either didn't see him or was too cold to respond, not that he could blame her.

She was wearing a singlet and pyjama shorts. No shoes, no jacket, not even a beanie. Clint jumped out of bed and hurried to shut the window before the storm outside turned torrential and ruined his carpet. His bare chest ached from its brief exposure to the cold, so he couldn't imagine how Natasha felt.

He moved over to her and cranked the space heater up a little. Her teeth were chattering, her lips tinged blue, and he couldn't figure out for the life of him why she had decided to walk to his house in such terrible weather. Her eyes were glazed. It made Clint's stomach coil tightly in fear.

"Hey, Nat, you okay?" he asked, gripping her by the arm. Her skin was like ice to touch.

"F-f-fine" she mumbled, hands curled tightly around the bottom of her singlet. "Just c-cold."

"Okay, lets warm you up," Clint said, and firmly moved her over to sit on his bed. Natasha had stumbled into his room at all hours of the night before, but she had never been this cold. "I'll get you some dry clothes."

"K-k-kay" she said, her whole body trembling.

Clint began to rifle through his drawers, throwing aside clothes in his haste. He didn't know why Natasha had shown up in his room. Ivan was supposed to be back for the whole week, so she had told him not to expect her. Plus, after their disagreement that afternoon, he hadn't really expected to see her at all until school.

"What're you doing out in this weather?" Clint asked. He found a long sleeved shirt and a sweater that he had never even worn before. He pulled out two pairs of socks and spun back around to her. "If this is about this afternoon –"

Natasha slumped over on the bed, her body falling at an odd angle. Clint dropped the clothes and moved to her side, pressing his hands against her cold cheeks and bringing his face close to hers. She was breathing, he could feel it against his skin. But she was definitely unconscious, and Clint didn't know what to do.

"Tasha, you gotta wake up," he said, fighting back his panic. He patted her cheek gently, holding his breath as her eyes rolled forward and she focused on his face for barely a second. "Hey, hey, that's it. Look at me. Stay awake."

"Clin?" she slurred. It was as though all of the strength had left her body; he was holding her head in his hands, and knew if he let go she would simply fall again. "M'fine."

"We gotta get you warmed up," Clint said. "You gotta stand up for a minute, can you do that?"

Natasha shook her head no, the movement lethargic and heavy. Clint draped one of her arms around his shoulder and pulled her unsteadily to her feet. He made quick work of pulling the now wet doona and sheets off his bed, flinging them aside carelessly as he struggled to hold Natasha against him.

"Lemme go," she protested, trying to pull away. "_Nyet_. M'good."

"Cut it out," Clint muttered. He carefully lowered Natasha back onto the mattress, laying her down flat on her back. He knew he had an information booklet in his first aid kit, but didn't know if it was worth wasting time to go and read it. Natasha closed her eyes again and making up his mind, Clint quickly went to his wardrobe.

He yanked the first aid kit out and threw it towards the bed. Natasha was babbling about something, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. His fingers fumbled through the booklet until he came across the section on hypothermia. He skim read it, then took it with him back over to the bed.

"Stay here," he told Natasha, even though she was in no state to move. He ducked out into the hall and grabbed as many spare blankets out of the linen cupboard that he could carry. Back in his room, he dumped the blankets on the ground and moved the space heater as close to the bed as possible, cranking up the heat. Then he ran to the kitchen, impatiently waited for the kettle to boil on the stove and filled as many water bottles as he could find.

When he got back, Natasha was shivering again. He put everything on the ground and grabbed the socks to pull over her feet.

"I have to take your clothes off," he told her, trying to gain her attention. "Nat. I gotta take your wet clothes, off, okay? It's just me, its just Clint."

She didn't answer him. He didn't even think about what was happening, because if Natasha didn't get warm soon, she would die. He needed to help her. He needed to just get over it.

He pulled her shorts down and couldn't help the gasp that escaped his mouth when he saw the state of her thigh. There was a shallow wound, as though someone had taken a knife and started to carve out the soft flesh there. It looked like it had stopped bleeding a while ago, but upon closer inspection he realised why the spot looked so familiar.

It was where the freckles had been. He couldn't make out the smiley face or the tiny marks beneath the mangled flesh, but he was starting to get an idea of what might have happened tonight. Ivan had obviously seen the face. Clint didn't want to think about _why_ he would have seen it. There were a lot of things Natasha didn't tell him.

He pushed past the rage that burned hot through his veins and turned his vision red. He threw the wet shorts to the side and moved up to her singlet, trying to be as gentle as possible as he worked her arms out of the straps.

"No," she moaned, pushing one hand weakly against his chest. When he looked at her face he was horrified to see her cheeks wet with tears. "M'good. G-g-good girl."

"It's just me," Clint pleaded with her, trying to draw her attention to his face. "I'm sorry, Tash. I gotta get the clothes off to warm you up. It's okay."

Natasha seemed to calm at the sound of his voice. He kept talking nonsensical things to her as he finally pulled the singlet over her head, then reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. He kept his eyes on her face, his breathing even so he could stay calm and help her. He was scared out of his mind.

Once her saturated clothes were off, he just as gently pulled his sweater over her head to cover her a little. He revisited the first aid booklet to know where to place the warm water bottles on her chest and neck, then crawled into the bed beside her and pulled a couple of different blankets around the two of them.

The cold was radiating off of her small body. Clint's chest was like ice too, so he pulled her to him and wrapped himself around her, trying to use their shared body heat to warm up the nest he had created.

Natasha sighed, head lolling over so her forehead was resting on his. She seemed to be breathing fine. Clint's heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his body as he just held her and hoped that he had done enough.

"Better Tash?" he whispered.

She nodded slowly, her whole body still trembling violently. She reached up with a clumsy hand and clutched at his arm, pulling her body even closer to his.

"Warm," she murmured.

"Yea, it's nice and warm," Clint said. "We're gonna stay like this for a while, okay?"

"Mmm'kay" Natasha agreed.

Clint held one of the warm water bottles firmly against Natasha's chest and watched her close her eyes. He didn't even know what time it was, just that he was wide awake now and wouldn't be able to sleep again tonight. Under the mountain of blankets he was already beginning to sweat. He just hoped it was enough for Natasha.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

here's part 2, a little earlier as promised! warning, this chapter is a little bit heavier than some of the others and does contain dialogue in which a suicide attempt is mentioned, so PLEASE do not read this chapter if that's not your thing. please take care of yourself!

thank you for reading, as always, and thank you so much for the comments and feedback! it's all so very appreciated :)

* * *

Clint spent the next two hours watching Natasha like a hawk. Her skin was warm to touch, but he was worried that he hadn't done enough. She was fast asleep against him, her hands curled around his neck and her breath hot on his face.

Her hair was still damp on the pillow. Clint manoeuvred himself out of her grip, waking her up in the process. She blinked at him blearily and he could tell that she didn't really understand where she was or what had happened.

"Hey," he murmured to her. "You're at my house."

"Hi," she whispered.

"I'm gonna go make you something to drink. Just stay here."

Natasha didn't answer him. Clint crawled out of the nest of blankets and tucked them more firmly around Natasha's body. Barney hadn't woken from all of the commotion throughout the night, and Clint didn't even think his parents were home.

He made Natasha a cup of warm water and swirled some honey in it. Then he took it back to the room and helped her sit up enough so that he could offer her small sips of the drink. Her hands shook from where she was trying to hold the cup around his own hands, and she had to pause to take deep breaths between each mouthful. His stomach twisted uneasily as he watched her.

When she had almost drunk all of it, he set the cup aside and held her hand loosely.

"How you feeling?" he asked gently. He could just feel her pulse, thready and slow. He was at a loss for what else he could do for her; calling an ambulance was probably out of the question, especially considering the wound on her leg that he hadn't had another chance to look at.

"Okay" she whispered. She struggled to keep her eyes open and began to slump back down again.

The room was warm, and Clint was too hot to get back under the covers with her. He tucked her in right up to her neck and lay beside her, face to face. Her eyes were still glazed and couldn't focus on his face. He reached out and gently moved a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her cheek for a moment.

"You scared me," he said hoarsely. His heart was still beating wildly. He had never been more terrified in his life, not even when he was a kid on the other end of one of his father's violent rampages. Not even when Natasha didn't remember him, because at least then she had been alive and healthy. He had almost _lost _her. The thought made him nauseous.

"_Izvinite_" she mumbled, though Clint was sure that she didn't fully understand what she was apologising for.

"It's okay" he told her anyway. "Just don't do it again."

"Hmmm" Natasha hummed, closing her eyes. "Is warm."

"Yea, it's warm," Clint agreed. He glanced at his alarm clock and sighed. It was barely past midnight. He scrubbed a hand over his face and lay back beside her, watching her eyelids twitch. "I'm gonna wake you up in a couple of hours."

"_Da_," she breathed.

Without thinking, he leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, Tash."

He didn't know how aware she was of what was happening, but a small, half-asleep smile graced her features briefly. It was enough. Clint rolled over and closed his eyes, hoping to get at least a little rest but not feeling confident that he would.

* * *

Clint glanced away from the TV as Natasha started to squirm beside him. She was on her back, face turned away from him, but he could see how tense she was even underneath all of the blankets.

Of course she would have a nightmare. Clint couldn't think of a single thing left that could go wrong with the night. He waited, watching her closely to see if she would wake herself up. It didn't seem to be a particularly bad nightmare; he had seen all kinds with her before, and more often than not they were violent and traumatic.

Occasionally she had a more quiet one, where she could either wake herself up or keep sleeping. He hoped it would be one of those ones tonight. They didn't need any extra stress.

For a second, it looked like it might be. Natasha relaxed, then rolled onto her side so her face was level with Clint's hip. Clint slouched against the headboard again. He had the TV muted and the subtitles on, trying to pass time. It was nearly 3 am. He was exhausted, but wanted to make sure that Natasha really was okay.

Her face screwed up again and she jolted forward slightly. Clint sighed and brought his hand to rub through her head, fingers ghosting over her scalp. She moved again, curling herself tightly as though she were in pain. Clint couldn't really hear the soft noises she was making, but he could feel her panting as she shuddered beneath his hand.

He rubbed his thumb against her temple, increasing the pressure just slightly to try and wake her slowly. She gasped and her eyes fluttered open. Clint only had a second to move his hand across her forehead to hold her back before she tried to slam her head into his thigh.

"It's just me, Nat," he told her. He waited a moment to see if she would lash out again, then slid down so they were face to face. "See? Just a bad dream."

She blinked at him slowly, trying to ground herself. "Is not real."

"Not real," Clint confirmed.

Natasha snaked a hand up from beneath the blankets and rubbed at her eyes. "What happened?"

"You walked here last night," Clint told her carefully. "In the storm, with just pyjamas on. I think you were hypothermic. I've been warming you up for hours."

Natasha blew out a breath. "Is stupid idea."

"Yea," Clint laughed, feeling relief heavy in his bones. "It was a _really _stupid idea."

He wanted to ask her what had caused her to walk out into the storm, but he could see that she needed a minute to collect herself. He stretched out, limbs stiff and muscles tight. The room was still too hot for him to be comfortable. He debated turning the space heater off now that they seemed to be past the worst of the cold.

"I need shower" Natasha said. She had a length of hair held out in front of her face, and Clint winced when he saw the knot that had formed.

"Okay," he said. He tugged the huge nest of blankets off of her and watched warily as she realised she had barely any clothes on. He dragged the blankets to the side of the room and began to explain before she could ask any questions. "I had to take your clothes off because, one, they were dripping wet. And two, they were not gonna keep you warm, which was my main goal."

Natasha shrugged. Her gaze landed on the bloody wound on her thigh and her face hardened just slightly. Clint could tell that she was remembering something by the slight crease in her brow. She didn't hesitate on the wound for long, though, and swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand.

"Oof" she gasped as she swayed sideways into the wall, leaning into it to regain her balance.

Clint frowned and crossed over to her. "Hey, everything okay?"

"I don't –" Natasha started to say, blinking quickly. Her face had paled significantly, and Clint could see that the wound on her thigh had started to bleed again. "I need –"

"To sit down" Clint told her, and started to pull her back to the bed.

She struggled feebly against him, her body shaking. "_Nyet_. I want shower."

Clint huffed. Natasha glared at him. They stood in silence, neither one willing to compromise.

"Can you even stand in the shower by yourself?" he eventually asked, giving in to her withering gaze.

"We see," Natasha said. She draped her arm over his shoulder and they began the slow trek out of his room. "Was only a little cold. I will be fine."

"You were _hypothermic_, but okay," Clint said, rolling his eyes. Natasha was too stubborn for her own good.

They made it to the shower in one piece. Natasha leant heavily against the sink as Clint started the shower, fiddling with the taps until the water was just warm enough. He could tell just from looking at her that there was no way she would be able to stand in there on her own.

"I'm gonna have to help you" he told her carefully. "Or you can wait 'til morning, when you're a little more steady."

To his surprise, she just shrugged. "Okay. You help."

He took a deep breath to ready himself, turning away from her slightly as she began to tug his sweater over her head. He had seen her naked last night, very briefly, but he hadn't even been thinking about it because he had been trying to save her life. This was much different.

Natasha could barely keep herself on her feet. The short walk had taken a lot out of her, Clint realised. He hoped it was just exhaustion, or her body's way of trying to heal itself. He didn't want to think that something else could be wrong. Not now, not so soon after he had almost lost her.

"We should've gone to the hospital" Clint muttered, even though he knew that it had never been a possibility.

Natasha either didn't hear him or ignored him. She tossed the sweater aside and gripped onto the sink as she stepped out of her underwear. Clint could see her swaying, and spun around just in time to grab her by the arm as she suddenly pitched forward.

Natasha closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply through her nose. She was still shaking, and Clint could see goose bumps prick over her skin as she stood in the cool air of the bathroom. Clint pushed any and all hesitations he had about seeing her naked aside as he realised that none of it even mattered. He could get over it.

"Gotta get in before the water goes cold" he murmured to her, guiding her through the door.

With her back to him he could see the bony ridges of her spine. Natasha had always been small, though more so in height than anything else. This seemed a little extreme. Clint added it to his mental list of things he might one day have to talk to Natasha about, if she ever gave him the chance.

She only stood for a minute before she slowly sank to the bottom of the shower. Clint kicked his pyjama pants off but left his boxers on and his hearing aids in. He wanted to avoid getting wet altogether, but wasn't convinced that Natasha would be able to move from her spot against the wall.

"Warm enough?" he asked, pulling the shower door shut behind him.

"What you are doing?" she asked, squinting at him from around the spray of the water.

Clint stepped around the spray, the bottom of his legs getting a little wet. He nudged himself in-between her and the cold wall, letting her fall back onto his chest. "Helping you, dummy."

"You are dummy" Natasha protested. She leant her head back to rest on his collarbone and sighed. "I am tired."

"I can tell," he said. He reached around her waist and carefully brushed his fingers over the dried blood on her thigh, letting the water wash the wound. The skin was pretty mangled, and the scar would probably be raised and ugly. He wondered absently if Natasha cared about those kinds of things.

"Ivan did that," she told him. It was a little hard to hear over the sound of the water, but their shower pressure was pretty weak so it could have been worse. "He did not like face."

"I shouldn't have drawn it," Clint said, feeling guilt eat at him. "I… I didn't think anyone would see it."

Natasha sighed again, though it sounded sadder. "Of course he see. He was drunk. He want me all to himself."

Clint grit his teeth. "That son of a bitch, I'll kill him."

"Clint," Natasha said. "Is not… is not first time. Is not last time, either. I tell him I draw it because I want to have fun. He is not happy with that."

Clint let his head thud back against the wall. He had always had suspicions but it wasn't something either of them ever wanted to bring up. It made acrid bile rise in his throat and rage course through his veins. That man had destroyed Natasha's life, had pulled her apart and tried to fit the pieces back together too many times. It needed to stop. It should have stopped a long time ago.

"I want to walk into snow and disappear," Natasha murmured suddenly. "He cut me, yell at me. I think, I am not me for me. I am not Natasha anymore. I am puppet for them, I am weapon for them. I don't want to be anything anymore."

Clint closed his eyes, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. Natasha rested her hand on his knee and squeezed like her life depended on it. He could feel her chest heaving and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to him.

"I just want to stop," she said, voice cracking. "I am _tired_. I think I need to make it stop, so I run. Ivan is drunk. No one cares. I want to _die_, Clint."

She started to sob, bringing her hands up to press into her eyes. Clint rested his head on her bony back and tried to hold her together. His heart felt like it had been shredded, every inch of his being aching with the knowledge that she had been hurting and he hadn't realised in time. What if she had never come to his house?

Maybe a part of him had known, or at least realised over the years. He pictured her hitting herself, scratching herself, throwing herself in front of moving cars as if it were a game. All the nights that she cried after a nightmare, begging him to make it stop. Thinking back, he could see how it might have been getting worse, but he had never imagined this to be the outcome.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her back, lips against her skin. "I'm sorry, Tash. I didn't know, I should have known."

"I am good actor," she choked out, and Clint couldn't help but laugh with her a little, even if it felt like knives were being driven into his ribcage. "I did not want to tell you."

"Why?" he asked, fearing her answer. She twisted in his arms so she could see him, the water from the shower falling onto her hair and catching on her eyelashes.

"Why you think?" she whispered. He watched her lips, not wanting to miss a word, but the admission knocked the breath out of his lungs anyway.

"Tash…" he trailed off, heart rate spiking as her lower lip trembled.

"Is too dangerous for you," she said softly. "But… it hurts me too."

Clint gulped, feeling the water on his legs begin to cool. He didn't know how long they had been sitting there for, and he didn't care. He didn't want to look away from her.

"If we try –"

_I thought it would be easier to not to tell you, _Natasha signed. _I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want to tell you because it was weak and I still think I need to prove myself to you_.

It was as though the floodgates had opened and all of the emotions they had been feeling for the last four years were pouring out. He didn't want to know how long she had been feeling this way for. He didn't think he could find it in him to ask.

_You don't have to prove anything to me_, he replied. _Ever. I know how strong you are_.

_I have not been me for so long_, Natasha said, shuddering. _I pretended to be the Natasha you knew because I was scared you wouldn't…_

She trailed off, hands dropping into her lap. Clint tilted her head up a little, trying to hold her gaze. The water was really getting cold now, and at the back of his mind he worried that this would only make her worse. He quickly reached up and flicked the tap as far as it would go, letting the last minutes of hot water wash over them.

"You know I would never," Clint told her. "There's nothing you could do that would change how I feel about you."

_That's dangerous_, Natasha signed, her smile small. _I'm sorry I pretended._

"You don't have to apologise for anything. Just don't do it again."

Natasha let out a deep breath, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She leant forward until her forehead was resting against his, and Clint closed his eyes, savouring the moment before it passed.

"_Ya lyublyu tebya_" she whispered, almost too soft for Clint to hear.

He felt like the world had stopped spinning. He opened his eyes to see her watching him, and as much as he wanted to lean forward and close the distance between their lips, he didn't. Her eyes were bright, the brightest green he had ever seen in his life.

He extended his thumb, index and pinkie finger, keeping the middle fingers down, and moved the sign to rest against her chest. She let out a shaky laugh, then entwined her hand with his and squeezed.

"We should get out," he murmured to her. "Before you get cold again."

She nodded and he stood, shutting the shower off and stepping out to grab her a towel. His boxers were soaked, but he wasn't about to take them off in front of her after everything she had just admitted. He wrapped the towel around her and helped her out, back down the hall and into his sweltering room.

She sat on the bed, watching as he tried to find her warm clothes to wear. He was hit with the image of her sitting in the same place four years ago, as scared and vulnerable back then as she was now. He passed her the fresh clothes and turned his back as she got dressed. They hadn't even washed her hair, he realised as he grabbed a new pair of boxers and pyjama pants.

When he turned around to tell her she was dressed and already curled away from him on the bed. He quickly changed, kicking the wet boxers to the other side of the room, then piled all of the blankets back on top of her and crawled up beside her.

She was almost asleep, but opened an eye to look at him. It was past 4 am; Clint could bet that they wouldn't be going to school tomorrow. He didn't even think about Ivan, or his parents. He just focused on his best friend in front of him.

"_Spasibo_" she murmured. He wasn't sure what for, but didn't ask.

"Anytime, Tash," he told her. "Now get some sleep."

"Night," she whispered, closing her eyes and curling into a tighter ball. Her hands were up by her face, so Clint encircled one of her wrists and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles until her breathing had evened out.

He took his hearing aids out with his free hand and settled down next to her. The world was silent, peaceful. A lot had happened since their argument that afternoon. He tried not to dwell on wondering if it had anything to do with what had happened tonight. The emotions they had shared were heavy; he didn't let them settle on his skin for too long though.

They could work it out. They always did. It was more serious now, and the stakes were much higher, but it was still the two of them, together, with a few new words shared between them.

Clint smiled as he fell asleep. It was a start.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

hey guys! this chapter includes underage drinking! just a heads up :)

like i always say, THANK YOU for your support, comments, etc! it means the world to me, thank you, i love you, hope you enjoy x

* * *

**March**

Clint eyed the box warily. It was long and narrow, and Natasha had stuck a bright red bow in the middle to make up for the lack of wrapping paper. He had no idea what it could be, but it was big and a little heavy.

Beside him, Natasha was all but vibrating from excitement. "Open it."

"Is it gonna explode?" Clint asked, reaching out to shake it again. "Why isn't it rattling?"

"Maybe you can't hear rattle" Natasha teased.

"Ouch, Romanova" he muttered. He fiddled with the bow, feeling a little weird. The present seemed to be pretty big, and he wasn't very good at accepting gifts, especially when they just _looked_ expensive.

"Open, dummy" Natasha urged. "Maybe I will open for you."

"You can if you want," Clint agreed, pushing the box towards her a little.

She shoved it back, glaring. "_Nyet_. Is your present. Now do it."

Clint huffed but figured he couldn't argue against her any longer. He tugged the bow off and took a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed, and then lifted the lid before he could hesitate any more.

He stared at the item in the box for a long time. Natasha was bouncing again, her tiny hands shooting into the box to retrieve the small item it held. He couldn't quite make out what it was, or maybe he just didn't want to believe what he was seeing. Natasha thrust it at him and his hands closed around the sleek aluminium.

"What?" He started to say, though he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

"Is bow" Natasha told him. "Folding bow."

"You're kidding" Clint said, laughing incredulously. He ran his pointer finger along the smooth edge of the bow, across the handgrip until it rested over the round bulge of a button. "What does the button do?"

"You see" Natasha said. "Press it."

He held the bow out at arms length, gripping it tightly, and pressed the button. The two limbs snapped out from the centre, forming the complete bow in less than a second. Clint couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He hadn't had a new bow since he was a kid, and even though he still used his old one to practise he had long ago outgrown it. He would never have been able to afford a bow like this, even if he had known that they existed in the first place.

"Tash, this is…" he said, but didn't even know how to describe how amazing the gift was.

"Is only one made," Natasha told him, grinning. "Special for you. I hope it work properly."

"Where did you even find something like this?" Clint asked, examining the limbs of the bow closely. Every detail was perfect, right down to the grip and sight.

"I know someone who know someone else" Natasha said vaguely. "I tell them what, they make for me." She bit her lip, looking a little sheepish. "You like?"

"I love it!" Clint exclaimed, and pulled her into a one-arm hug. "Oh my god, Nat, you're incredible."

Natasha propped her chin on his shoulder and reached out towards the bow, fingers ghosting over a slightly raised symbol on the grip that Clint had missed. "Look."

He reached out to feel the shape, running his thumb over the points of it, then brought the bow closer to his face to see what it was. It was a tiny hourglass, but instead of the curved edges that real hourglasses had, this one was sharp and pointed; two triangles on top of each other, point to point with a small gap between the tips.

"Is Black Widow" Natasha said softly in his ear. "Is me."

Clint knew now that Black Widow was the name given to the girls in the Red Room who succeeded. Natasha told him it was what they were all training for; to become the best, to become one of the most revered intelligence agents in the world. So far, none of the other girls had been successful. Natasha told him how they usually died, either in the Red Room or in the field, before the graduation ceremony.

Years ago she had hated the name. But now, even though she hadn't officially been crowned a Black Widow, she wore it with pride.

"Wow" Clint said, for lack of a better expression. He was overwhelmed and incredibly thankful for the gift. He carefully folded the limbs back towards the middle, and then brushed his thumb over the hourglass symbol again before he put it back in the box. He would have to be careful with who saw it. "This is… this is more than anything I've ever had before."

"Now you can take with you everywhere" Natasha told him. "In case of emergency."

Clint frowned at her, unsure what kind of emergency he would find himself in need of a bow for. Then he shrugged and tugged her firmly against his side again. "Thank you so much, Tasha."

"Is okay," Natasha said, snuggling against him. "Happy birthday."

Ever since that night in February, when Clint had almost lost her, Natasha had been a little more affectionate with him. Clint didn't call it a relationship, because it wasn't really that, and he knew that Natasha wasn't ready for anything serious. He was just happy to have her alive with him, and now that he knew how she had been feeling, he could keep a better eye on her.

She was back to her same old self; or at least, the self that Clint had believed was her. Now that he knew she was sometimes pretending he could call her out on it, but he also knew that she used these masks as a way to stay in control of the situation. The breakdown in the shower had stemmed from that loss of control, and Clint couldn't blame her for being hesitant to break the habit. He considered himself lucky that he got to see even a slither of the real Natasha underneath all of her armour.

"You know, we haven't sparred in a while," Clint suggested. He could tell from the way she had been bouncing that she had some pent up energy, and he wanted to see if he was any closer to actually being able to beat her in a fight. "We could go practise before you go back?"

"You can try bow" Natasha said, then stood in one fluid motion and held out her hand to pull him up. "Let's go, bird brain."

"You know I used to have this stupid nickname as a kid," Clint told her. He picked the box up and followed her down the gravel road. "Like, from the circus?"

"_Nyet_. Tell me."

Clint shook his head, feeling a flutter of embarrassment. "Hawkeye. I used to think it was the coolest thing, but now it's just… lame."

"Is like Black Widow" Natasha said. "I like it."

"Yea, well," Clint shrugged. "Maybe one day it'll be different. I used to force Barney to call me that instead of my real name."

"Could call you bird brain instead" Natasha laughed, punching him in the arm. "Come on, _Hawkeye_. We go fight."

* * *

Clint left the clearing late and feeling a little worse for wear. Natasha was brutal, and even though they didn't usually put all of their strength into their practises, she had improved significantly since the last time they had sparred.

She was harder to dodge now, and when he was lucky enough to gain the upper hand she flipped him on his back, every time. He didn't even know _how _she managed to flip him, since she was so much shorter than him. At one point, he was convinced that she had had her thighs around his neck.

They had burned all of her energy, though, with Clint being able to push her just far enough that by the end of it she was as tired as he was. Natasha had stretched and re-braided her hair before leaving, wishing him a happy birthday one last time and promising to see him in the morning for school. He had spent another hour after she left testing out the bow, which was quickly shaping up to be his favourite thing in the world.

His good mood was ruined when he saw his father's car parked in the driveway. He thought about sneaking through the back door but realised with a sense of dread that Harold was sitting on the porch, beer in hand, waiting for him.

Clint swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way slowly up the porch steps. To his surprise, Harold smiled and put the beer down, waving Clint over to him.

"Happy birthday, son," he said, shaking Clint's hand when he was close enough. "Sixteen, huh? Finally a man."

Clint didn't know what to do. He nodded and tried to smile, but he was sure it came out as more of a grimace. He was acutely aware of the box under his arm, and really hoped his father wouldn't ask to see what was inside.

"Sit with me," Harold said. He indicated the chair beside him, and it was then that Clint realised there was a second beer on the side table between them. His heart rate spiked, but he did as he was told, sitting stiffly in the chair and tucking the box away underneath it.

Harold passed him the spare beer. "There's nothing like a cold drink on your birthday."

"Thanks," Clint muttered, staring at the bottle in his hand. He felt uncomfortable and on edge, like something bad was going to happen at any second. When he realised that Harold was watching him he raised the beer to his lips and took a cautious sip.

"I didn't really know how to be a dad," Harold said suddenly, finishing off his own beer.

"Oh," Clint said, biting his tongue against all the things he really wanted to tell him. He wanted to scream at him and tell him how he wasn't a dad at all, how he was just a mean drunk who cared about no one but himself. He ignored it all and just shrugged, taking another swig of beer.

"I'll get another," Harold said, and went back inside.

Clint let out a shaky breath and tried to figure out how he could safely get to bed. Harold hadn't spoken to Clint for months, and even before then he had never made an effort. Clint had long ago made peace with the fact that his father wasn't a real dad, but a small part of him couldn't help but feel happy that they were actually having a conversation.

Clint tried to push that feeling aside as Harold returned with a cooler bag. He passed Clint a second beer, which he accepted with slightly less hesitation than he had the first. Harold was in a good mood. Maybe things would be different now that Clint was older.

He realised it was probably a naïve thought to have. The Clint from five years ago would have lapped up this attention, doing anything he could to please his father without earning himself a black eye or bruised ribs. It was hard to let go of those feelings; as much as Clint hated Harold, he also couldn't deny that this little bit of attention made him feel really good.

"Do you have plans?" Harold asked. "For after school?"

Clint shrugged, watching condensation drip down the neck of the bottle. "I'm not really sure yet."

It wasn't a lie, because Clint really did have no idea what he wanted to do. He just knew that he hoped it involved Natasha, and not any of the people who had hurt them over the years.

"You could join the military," Harold suggested, though Clint couldn't help but wonder if he was hinting at more. "You've got great aim."

"Thanks," Clint said again, feeling awkward. He put down the empty bottle and moved on to the next beer, relaxing marginally. It was his first taste of alcohol, and while he didn't completely hate it, he wasn't really enjoying it much either. "I guess I could."

"My son, a sniper in the army," Harold said, staring out across the porch. He reached over and shoved Clint's shoulder, and his first reaction was to tense and prepare for what was to come next. But Harold just laughed and drained the last of his drink. "That'd be something, wouldn't it?"

Clint let out a breathy laugh, pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind. This was normal, just a father and son having a chat. It was… _weird_, but strangely Clint found himself enjoying it.

"Yea, something…" Clint agreed.

"You like these?" Harold asked, pointing his beer towards Clint.

He shrugged. "They're not bad. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Harold said. "It's your birthday. Sixteen! We have the whole night."

"Yea, cool," Clint said honestly, settling further back into the chair against his better judgement. His need for his father's approval won out against all of the voices in his head telling him it was a bad idea to stay on the porch.

He clinked his glass against Harold's, grinning. What was the worst thing that could happen?

* * *

Clint stumbled into his room, banging off the edge of the doorframe and sliding onto his knees in the doorway. He laughed, loud and abrupt, and snaked his hand up the wall searching for the light switch. Everything was dark and loud and _spinning_, he realised, a second before he pitched sideways.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the feeling of the soft carpet on his cheek. The room was moving in slow circles, everything felt heavy and he couldn't figure out how to get his legs underneath him. He didn't even know what time it was, just that two beers had turned into way more and he had only crawled inside after Harold fell asleep on the porch.

The light came on and burned against his eyes. He groaned and closed them, pressing his face into the carpet. He felt a little sick, and everything was still spinning even though his eyes were closed. His ears buzzed, the hearing aids feeling uncomfortable and magnifying every small sound around him. His head throbbed. He was going to be sick.

Hands rolled him onto his back and then slapped his cheeks. He groaned again, throwing an arm over his face and peeking out from underneath it to see who was being so annoying.

"Nat?" he slurred, not sure if he was hallucinating or not. He tried to sit up and she helped him, dragging him to his feet by his armpit. "What're you doin'?"

"Picking you up," she muttered, screwing her nose up. "You stink."

"S'nice to see you," he said, letting himself be led over to the bed. He collapsed across the middle of it, feeling like his bones might melt into the mattress. Had his bed always been this soft?

"What you were doing?" she asked him as she started to take his shoes off. "I sit here for hours."

"Since when did you live here?" Clint asked, noticing for the first time that his bed was unmade and that weird doll was up by the pillows. He reached for it clumsily, fingers brushing one fabric foot. "This doll freaks me out, d'you know that?"

Natasha rolled him onto his back and stared down at him, hands on her hips. Clint burst out laughing at the look on her face, then tried to reach for the doll again. "Nat, the doll's _scary_."

"Is Yulia," Natasha told him. She looked at what he was wearing, then seemingly made up her mind and began to fold his limbs back onto the bed. "Is my doll. Touch her and I kill you."

"Yikes" Clint muttered, trying to help her get him into the bed. His hands didn't want to listen to his brain. He fumbled with the sheet, trying to kick it to the end of the bed. "Hey, maybe you should have a beer too!"

"No" Natasha said firmly. Once she was sure he was safely in the bed, she fetched him some painkillers from his secret stash and held them out to him. "Take it."

"Need water," Clint mumbled, swatting her hand away. Natasha forced them back into his line of sight and he frowned. "Tash, I need _water_."

Natasha groaned and muttered something that Clint had no hope of understanding. She opened the door and slipped out, and Clint lay looking at the ceiling, trying to count the colourful dots that were exploding everywhere. He didn't even hear Natasha come back in, and jumped when she pushed a glass of water under his nose.

"Okay, mum" Clint moaned and forced himself upright. His vision blurred, and for a second he was sure he was going to vomit everywhere. He breathed deeply, felt Natasha's small hand rubbing between his shoulder blades.

"Just take it," she told him, watching as he swallowed both painkillers then downed the rest of the water.

"Hmmm, water's good" he hummed, flopping back into the pillows.

He watched through hazy eyes as Natasha crawled in beside him, reaching over to grab Yulia and clutching the doll to her chest. They lay facing each other, Natasha's face too concerned for Clint's liking.

He reached out to try and bush her hair away but ended up almost poking her eye out instead. "Wassup, Tash?"

"What happened?" she asked, frowning. "Why you are drunk?"

"'M not," Clint protested, then conceded. "Okay, maybe a little. It's cause my dad wanted to have a birthday drink, how cool! We had fun. D'you know my dad?"

"_Da_," Natasha said. "I know him."

"He's great," Clint said, smiling. "He… he got me a beer. Then he… ya know… he…"

He felt Natasha rub his arm. His eyes burned with hot tears, his body shaking with the effort it took to hold everything in. He needed to be sick, he wanted to be sick, but he couldn't make his body move.

"He's a real dick, right?" Clint finally choked out. "He's not a dad. I just thought it was gonna be different."

"Is okay," Natasha soothed. Her hand moved from his arm to cup his cheek and he closed his eyes, trying to ground himself.

"Why doesn't he love me?" Clint asked. "He never… he never loved me. What did I do?"

"Nothing," he heard Natasha say. She shifted closer until he could feel her breath on his face, soft and sweet. "You did nothing."

Clint nodded, out of words. He reached up to his ear and yanked the hearing aid out, then the second one. He didn't want to hear anything, not even his own thoughts. His birthday had been ruined because he had thought Harold was different now, but it was just the same as it always was.

Natasha continued to stroke his cheek. He didn't open his eyes to look at her, but he reached out to clutch at her shirt, holding her to him. He was annoyed and angry with himself, but mostly sad. It felt like there was no place for hope in his life.

Maybe it wasn't just Natasha he should be worrying about.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

hey guys! i'm flying to europe for 7 weeks in the morning, so updates may be slower than usual. i'm still planning on writing and hope to get a couple of chapters out while i'm on my holiday, but the schedule will be a little off!

i hope you enjoy this chapter. something a lil sweeter for our darlings :) thanks for your support and reviews! x

* * *

**April**

Clint narrowed his eyes. Across the table, Natasha raised an eyebrow, glowering at him. They sat in tense silence, neither one of them willing to back down. Clint huffed, feeling his frustration begin to simmer into anger.

Laura and Rachel dropped their lunch trays on the table, sitting between them. It was enough to break Clint's concentration, and he pretended not to see Natasha's satisfied smirk when he finally looked away from her.

"Did we interrupt something?" Laura asked, looking from Clint to Natasha.

"No," Clint grumbled. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, forcing himself to chew and swallow. "Nothing's wrong."

Natasha pursed her lips. "He is stubborn."

"Don't even get me started," Clint said. "You think _I'm_ stubborn, Natasha?"

"We can leave…" Rachel murmured, looking uncomfortable.

"_Nyet_," Natasha said, shaking her head. She pushed her mostly untouched tray of food away from her and leant back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "Is fine."

Laura laughed, though it was a little awkward. The four of them fell into an uncomfortable silence, Clint watching Natasha while she ignored him. He kind of wanted to shake her, or at least finish their conversation so they could just move on.

"We have math next, right?" Rachel asked Natasha, breaking the tense bubble they were sitting in. "Did you understand any of those equations?"

Clint tuned them out. He didn't like to eat in the cafeteria; it was always way too loud, and he usually got a headache from trying to hear the people around him. Everything blurred into one noise and he hated it. Natasha had wanted to sit inside, though, and he had only agreed at the time because he hadn't been angry with her then.

Natasha was trying to convince him to ask Rachel out again. He was starting to get whiplash from the way she was acting. One second he thought that they had a chance, and then she would start pestering him about some other girl. He couldn't get a read on her, and didn't even know which version of Natasha he was dealing with anymore. It was supposed to have been easier after everything they had been through in recent months, but like always, it was like they had taken five steps back.

Laura nudged him and he turned to her, realising she must have said something that he missed. She pointed to the end of the table where Natasha was packing up her backpack, getting ready to leave. Clint frowned then glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Lunch is over?" he asked Laura incredulously. He hadn't even noticed that people were leaving the cafeteria. How long had he been lost in his head?

"Just about," she answered. "Bye Rach, bye Natalia!"

"See you tomorrow," Rachel told them, and Clint smiled tightly as she followed Natasha out of the room.

"Did you guys get into a fight?" Laura asked once the other two were out of earshot.

Clint sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yea, kinda."

Laura looked at him expectantly but didn't push him. He liked that about her, that they could sit together and she didn't expect him to say anything. Surprisingly, he felt the urge to tell her about the stupid disagreement. Maybe it was because Natasha wasn't listening to him and he was just annoyed.

"Nat wants me to ask Rachel out," he said.

"You guys would be pretty cute together," Laura said, and Clint instantly regretted telling her anything.

"I don't like Rachel like that," he said, pushing his chair back. "Don't worry about it."

"I always thought you and Natalia had a thing, you know?" Laura told him. She gave him a knowing look as he went to protest, promptly shutting him up. "I'm waiting for the day you two nerds finally get together."

"It's not as simple as that," Clint said bitterly. If only Laura knew half the truth of what he went through with Natasha.

"I know you like her as more than a friend," Laura said. "Like, you like her a _lot_. So I guess when you like someone that much, it shouldn't be hard. It should be as easy as breathing."

Loving Natasha _was_ as easy as breathing. That was his problem. Even though she still pushed him away, even though she changed her mind every other day, he couldn't stop the way he felt about her. She made him angry and frustrated and happy and excited. She was stubborn and beautiful and deadly, and he wouldn't change her for the world.

"It's just not," he said instead. "It's just… sometimes it hurts."

Laura put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, giving him a small smile. "It'll work out between you two, I know it. Natalia is… different. I think she mostly tolerates everyone. Around you she melts."

"_Mostly_" Clint laughed, picturing the way she had been glaring at him all afternoon. "I don't know."

"Honestly, the sooner you get it together, the better," Laura said as they left the cafeteria. "Then Rachel can get over you, too."

"I didn't know she liked me," Clint said.

"Of course she does, oh my god" Laura exclaimed. "You're actually oblivious. Maybe the most oblivious person I've ever met."

"Whatever" Clint muttered, but he was starting to see Laura's point. Maybe he was looking too far into things, or maybe he just wasn't trying hard enough. Things had been a little tense since his birthday, not that he remembered much of the night. They needed to have a big conversation, and while the thought terrified him, he could also see how it would help.

He pushed the thought from his mind and made his way to class, ready to get the day over with.

* * *

Having a big conversation with Natasha turned out to be a lot harder than Clint expected.

After school, they walked back to his house in silence. Natasha was purposely ignoring him, he could tell, but he didn't want to call her out on it yet. He kept thinking of how he would broach the subject, and what he actually wanted to talk to her about. He wanted to tell her the truth about the way he felt, both about her and the way she acted. It made his stomach clench with anxiety.

Once inside, they went straight to his room and dumped their backpacks, still not speaking. Clint went back to the kitchen for a snack but Natasha didn't follow him, and after he had finished eating he returned to his room to find her waiting patiently, pen in hand.

She sat behind him on the bed as she drew on his shoulder. He could recognise the pattern, felt the familiar stings as the pen caught on his skin in all of the same places as it had last time. The feeling of it made his head swim with images of Natasha, half frozen in his bed. He forced them to the back of his brain and tried to focus on how to tell her what he wanted to say.

"Done," she declared, sitting back and capping the pen.

This time, Clint stood up and left his room instead of pulling his shirt back on. He went to the bathroom, leaving Natasha sitting on the bed, and turned his back to the mirror, stretching to see what exactly it was that she had drawn on him.

It was a little spider. The tiniest spider she could possibly draw with a pen on skin. The lines were a little too thick, and some parts joined together, but he could make out what she meant. There was a small arrow piercing right through its middle, and what looked like a small droplet of blood falling just below.

Clint stared at the drawing for a long time. He reached up and ran his thumb over it, smudging a little of the ink. It didn't make a lot of sense, but then again, nothing Natasha did ever made much sense to begin with.

He walked back to his room slowly, not sure what to think of her drawing. She was still sitting on the bed, but she had her legs over the side like she might bolt at any moment. She looked tense, and it upset him to think that she might be on edge because of him.

"If you're annoyed because I got drunk, that was an accident," he blurted before he could stop himself or think anymore about what he wanted to say. "I was an idiot, okay, but it doesn't mean you get to start walking around again making me feel bad when I don't even know why."

"I don't care if you are drunk," Natasha said, looking confused. "What it has to do with anything?"

"You, Nat," Clint exclaimed, pointing at her. He felt guilt claw up his throat as she flinched away from the sudden movement, but forced himself to continue. "You have to do with everything. You keep pressuring me –"

"I want you to be happy," she stressed. "How you not see?"

"You know what I want!" Clint cried. "There's nothing else for me to see, okay?"

"Is dangerous and stupid," Natasha told him. She stood so that they were face to face, glaring him down again. "You _are_ idiot."

"You can't call me names," Clint scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're not ten anymore, Natasha. We're gonna be adults and we need to have adult conversations, like, about feelings and stuff."

"_Nyet_. I not want to."

Clint felt like he could scream. He took a step back from her and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the short strands. He didn't understand how she could keep pushing him away and then expect things to be the same. He had thought they were finally on the same page after the incident in February, but Natasha was clearly a few chapters behind.

"You're so goddamn stubborn," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You keep making me think that I have the smallest chance with you, then you go and rip it to shreds right in front of me."

"You say nothing will change," she said. "You say we are friends always."

"Of course we are," Clint said. "You're _always_ gonna be my best friend. You just make it so hard."

"Oh, so is hard to be friends now?" Natasha spat. Clint could tell she was hurt, but he was tired of playing games with her.

"When you constantly push me into asking people out, then yes, it is hard," Clint said. "Because you know how I feel and you're not helping me get over you by just, I don't know, naming random people from school and hoping one sounds good."

"Just forget it," Natasha snapped. "Forget it all. Is easy, I have needle for it."

Clint sucked in a deep breath, taking another step back. It was like a punch to the gut, and Natasha knew it. Without even realising he scanned her arms for puncture marks, but she was clean and acting of her own accord.

"I am no good for you," she said slowly, eyes blazing. "I want you to find someone else so you are not alone. Is what friends do."

Clint shook his head, not knowing how he could change her mind. Instead he pointed over his shoulder to his back and the tiny little spider. "What the fuck does this mean?"

"You hurt me," she said, panting. Her arms wound around her stomach and she swayed a little, the way she used to when she was a kid. It made Clint want to reach out to her but he stopped himself. "You kill me. You know that?"

"You don't tell me until it's too late," Clint laughed, shaking his head. "Jesus, Natasha. Nothing's ever simple with you."

"It kill me, to see you," she admitted. "You think I don't want you? You need someone else so I can forget too."

"That's real considerate of you," Clint drawled.

"I am selfish too," she snapped. "Clint. I want you and I am afraid for you. I am no good."

He couldn't help himself. He stepped forward until they were almost toe-to-toe, gently easing Natasha's fingernails out of her arm. There were deep half-crescent marks from where she had been squeezing her skin, and he ran his thumbs over them, trying to soothe the flesh.

"You are good," he told her softly. "You just have bad things happen to you. And I think I should get to decide for myself what I can and can't have. You don't get to make that choice for me."

"When I am with you, I want to be me," Natasha murmured. He strained to hear her, bringing his face down a little closer to her. "The real me. I still think I have to pretend. Then I won't be hurt."

"I love every version of you," Clint said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had never said the words out loud to her before, but he needed to tell her the exact truth. If this were where it ended for them, then he would be content to know that he had at least told her how he felt properly. "I love you, Tash. I'll never hurt you."

"Love is for children," she said, but her eyes were soft.

"We're still children," he said, and drew her into his arms.

She rested her head against his chest, arms tightly wrapped around his waist. He held the back of her head, fingers combing through the red locks as he held her, trying to savour the moment in case it was the last time he could hold her.

When she pulled back she was smiling a little. "I don't know if I can say… Is hard for me…"

"I know" he told her, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You don't have to say anything except that we can try, right? We're on the same page here?"

"_Da_," she said. "I want to try. I am… tired of pretending. _Izvinite_."

"No more Rachel," Clint said and she laughed, leaning forward so her chin was resting on his chest as she looked up at him.

"No Rachel," she agreed. "Clint and Natasha."

"Clint and Tasha," he echoed. "You know, we're still best friends. And you _are_ good for me."

Natasha's hand snaked under his arm and he felt her rub at the spider on his shoulder. "This is really because you make me feel. They try to take away, but you make me happy. Sometimes so happy it hurts. I don't know to deal with that."

Clint pictured the little spider with the matching little arrow and laughed, because of course Natasha would draw the most complicated thing to represent the easiest of emotions. He knew it was hard for her to express things but they had made real progress, and he was ready to try out this new thing between them.

"You mostly make me happy," Clint said, laughing again at the look on her face. "Sometimes you annoy me, or frustrate me. Sometimes I wanna pull my hair out."

Natasha slapped his chest, then stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It burned like a bruise and took the breath out of him, but it was the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. She brought one hand up to his cheek and he tangled his hand back in her hair, and they kissed like it was the last thing they might ever do.

She smiled against his lips, then pulled away and burrowed her head into his chest again, holding him tight.

"I love you," he breathed against her hair, and pushed one hand between their bodies to sign it too. "I'm so happy and I love you."

_Me too_, she signed against him. _You are my strong and my happy._

Clint grinned. It wasn't how he had imagined the afternoon panning out, but he wouldn't change a thing. It was the two of them, a team, against the world. Nothing could stop them now.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

hey guys!! sorry if the formatting looks a lil different to normal, im overseas and can only type on my phone :( as soon as i get home ill fix it all right up! :)thank you for all of your wonderful reviews, i appreciate them all! just a reminder updates may be slower than usual bc im on holiday, but thank you for reading!! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**May**

The gym was silent except for the final crashing notes of Swan Lake, all eyes on Natasha as she leapt and spun her way across the stage. If Clint didn't know her he wouldn't have noticed the tension in her shoulders, or the way that she was using every ounce of energy she had left to complete her routine. He was mesmerised watching her, as was everyone else, but he knew the toll that the dance was taking on her body.

She flew into the air, then seemed to fall as though she wasn't going to catch herself. Clint held his breath, waiting for the moment her feet hit the ground and she landed her final move. She paused, then stood, arms raised, and the gymnasium erupted into thunderous applause. Clint's aids squeaked from the sudden influx of noise, so he reached up to turn them down a little, letting the clapping fade into the background.

Beside him, Laura was beaming and jumping on the spot, hands around her mouth as she cheered. The other dancers joined Natasha on stage for the final bow, but Clint couldn't tear his gaze away from Natasha's sweaty and triumphant face.

He was acutely aware of Ivan towards the side of the stage, and knew that they would be treading a fine line. Standing beside him was James, a younger man whom had been training Natasha for the majority of the last year. He didn't look like much of a dancer, and while she had never explicitly told him what James taught, Clint could guess that it had nothing to do with ballet and everything to do with bullets.

The dancers left the stage and Clint let Laura lead him out the side door. They stood out on the grass, waiting for Rachel and Natasha to join them. With Ivan inside, Clint wasn't expecting to see Natasha after the recital, but at least wanted to congratulate Rachel on her roll in the show.

"That was incredible," Laura said from beside him. Clint fixed the settings on his hearing aids again and the sound around him came back into focus.

"Sorry, I missed that," he said a little sheepishly, but Laura didn't care.

"They were amazing" she continued to gush, gripping his arm. "Rachel knows so much for a beginner, like it would be so hard to learn but she still did it all so well. And don't even get me started on Natalia."

"Yea" Clint murmured, feeling something akin to pride swell up in his chest. Natasha hadn't just been amazing; he had never seen anything as beautiful and deadly as Natasha dancing. He didn't think anything would ever compare to the sight of her, twirling and leaping and flying across the stage. "She was perfect."

"Speak of the devil!" Laura cheered, and Clint turned to see Rachel exit from the gym and make her way over to them. Laura pulled her into a bone crushing hug, squealing the whole time. "You were incredible! Amazing! Words can literally not describe how good it was, right Clint?"

"You were great, Rach," Clint said sincerely, and even gave her a one armed hug.

"Thanks guys" Rachel mumbled, heat flushing across her cheeks. "I can't believe I got up in front of all those people and just did that."

"Is Natalia coming?" Laura asked. "Should we wait?"

Clint shrugged but Rachel shook her head. "Her uncle wants her to stay back and practise some more. I don't know why, she was clearly the best out there."

"You were definitely second best" Laura encouraged, linking her arm through Rachel's. "You wanna come get burgers, Clint?"

"Thanks, but I might wait for Nat," he told them, ignoring the knowing look on Laura's face. "See you after break, I guess."

"Don't be silly," Laura chastised. She used her free arm to reach into her bag and pull out a pen and notebook. "You just got a phone, right? Give me your number."

Edith had surprised both him and Barney with their own mobile phones just last week, but Clint didn't really use his. Natasha didn't have a phone, and he hadn't really thought about texting anyone else. He shrugged and wrote the number down anyway. Catching up with Laura and Rachel over vacation might be nice.

"See you whenever!" Laura said, beginning to pull Rachel away.

"See ya," he called back. "And hey, great job again Rachel."

"Thanks Clint," she waved, and he watched the two of them melt into the crowd that was still streaming out of the gymnasium.

He thought about waiting for Natasha but realised it would probably be a waste of time. Ivan and James would probably have something planned, some new trick or way to teach her to fight the fatigue her body would currently be experiencing. Natasha had danced the most throughout the recital, and even though he didn't know much about ballet, Clint could tell that her dances were a lot more technical than the others.

He had the truck, so he decided instead to drive to the supermarket to get Natasha something in case she did turn up at his house that night. It had been the last day of school, and he knew that she would be getting ready to go back to Russia soon. Summer vacation sucked without her, but he had made it through the last few fine. It was her coming back that always worried him, because he didn't know which Natasha he would be seeing on the first day of school.

The supermarket wasn't busy. Clint grabbed a basket in case he ended up leaving with more than he planned. He looked at the cards, but none of them seemed appropriate for Natasha. He went to the candy aisle and threw a packet of sour worms into the basket, then a few chocolate bars for himself. It was getting late, so he didn't want to stock up on too much junk.

He found some herbal tea in a cute box that was said to be soothing. He didn't really know if Natasha liked tea, or how to make it for that matter, but it might be nice to try. Next he picked up a gel to ease muscle aches and some extra bandaids in case her toes were bleeding again.

From the register, Clint could see across the road to his father's butchers. The light was on but there was no movement in the front of the store. He had a feeling that Harold hosted some kind of card game nights out the back, and that his mum often joined him. She liked poker the best. Clint knew that she counted the cards.

"All done," the girl at the register said, knocking Clint from his thoughts.

"Thanks," he mumbled, scooping up the bag and heading back out into the night.

He fought the urge to go over to the store and peek in the side window. A part of him didn't want to know if his mum was there too; even though it was pointless, he still liked to pretend that she was at work and didn't have a problem. He didn't care what kind of business his dad got up to, but it hurt to know that his mum had been dragged into it too.

Sighing, Clint threw the bag onto the passenger seat of the truck and started the engine. When he got home the house would probably be empty. Barney was gone more often than not these days too; Clint didn't mind the solitude, but it could be a little boring. Hopefully, Natasha would climb through the window and they could try the tea and maybe watch a movie too. He tried not to get his hopes up. With Ivan, nothing was certain.

* * *

Clint didn't see Natasha that night. It wasn't until lunch time the next day that she knocked on his front door, looking pale and exhausted. He let her in and ushered her straight to his room, past his mum who had passed out on the couch sometime in the morning. He didn't know what time his parents had gotten home, but there was a stack of cash sitting on the kitchen bench and half a bottle of wine in the fridge, so he could assume they had had a successful night.

He shut the door behind Natasha and then immediately pulled her into his arms, feeling her sink into him so he was all but holding her up. He breathed in the sweet aroma of her strawberry shampoo and the strange, almost metallic scent that seemed to cling to her skin.

"You were amazing," he told her, pulling back so that he could meet her eyes. "It was honestly the best thing I've ever seen."

"You just say that," she muttered, but there was a pleased look on her face that she couldn't quite hide.

"Ugh, you got me," Clint said, shrugging. "I actually thought Sarah W was better."Natasha rolled her eyes. "Mudak."

"Didn't wanna hurt your feelings or anything," Clint continued to tease. "But Sarah W was clearly the star of the show."

Whatever, she signed, then leant into him so that her chin was resting on his chest and she could look up at him through her lashes. "Hi."

"Hey," he replied gently. There were deep, dark purple bags under her eyes that Clint wanted to rub away. Instead he leant down and kissed her, softly and slowly, savouring the moment for as long as he could.

"Hmm," Natasha hummed when they eventually pulled apart. Her eyes were still closed, and she burrowed her whole head into his chest. "Tired."

"Come lie down," Clint said, and tugged her over to the bed. "Do you like tea?"

"I have not had much," she told him, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"I got you some to try," Clint said. "I can make some? If you want?"

"_Spasibo_" Natasha murmured.

Clint went out to the kitchen to get the tea ready. He read the box and tried to follow the instructions, but they didn't have a teapot and he really wasn't sure how good it would taste after being in the microwave. While he waited for it to finish, he made them a platter of snacks with whatever he could find in the cupboards. It wasn't anything fancy, but it would be enough to get them through until dinner.

Back in his room, Natasha had shed her jeans and was sitting in just her underwear and one of his hoodies. He passed her the tea before climbing onto the bed beside her and leaning back against the headboard, tray of food between them.

Natasha cradled the cup of tea close to her face and Clint found himself holding his breath as she sipped at it. Her eyes closed again and she smiled softly to herself, settling herself down beside him.

"Good?" He asked.

"_Da_," she replied, opening her eyes again. "Is very good."

"So, what time did you get home last night?" He said casually. She looked way too tired for him to believe that she had had enough sleep last night.

Natasha frowned. "In morning. We stay all night, to practise."

Clint stared at her. "You're kidding."

"_Nyet_" Natasha said, covering her mouth as she yawned. "James is going to Russia today. Was last training until I go too."

"You must be exhausted," Clint said. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Wednesday" Natasha answered easily. She picked a pickle off the plate and nibbled on the end of it. "When I come here."

"Today's Saturday, Nat" Clint said incredulously. "You haven't slept in two days?"

"Lots to do," she deflected, trying to shrug it off.

"That's insane," he muttered, shaking his head. "The fact that you even managed to dance…"

"Hmm," Natasha hummed again. She slurped the last of the tea and set the cup down on the bedside table before curling up into a tight ball.

Clint blew out a breath and moved the tray of food to the table on his side of the bed. Now that he knew Natasha had barely slept, the tension he had seen as she danced made sense. She would have been running on empty, and yet it went to show just how good she was that she had finished any of the dances.

He tugged the doona out from under her body and pulled it around the two of them. Natasha's eyes were already closed, but she pulled her hand up from under the covers, searching for him. Clint grabbed her hand and brought her knuckles up to his lips, kissing the slightly bruised flesh.

"Have a little nap," he told her, squeezing her fingers. "I'll wake you up later, okay?"

"_Da_," she whispered.

He watched her face relax, then rolled onto his back so he could at least watch a little TV. He let go of her hand, assuming that she wouldn't need the comfort of him holding her wrist to help her sleep today. She was already out to it, her small body curled up beside him and radiating warmth.

He flicked the TV on and settled in for a lazy afternoon. He didn't mind it with her beside him.

* * *

Clint woke Natasha for dinner, but after picking at her pizza for a few minutes it became clear she wasn't feeling any better after her nap. She went and had a shower while he cleaned up the pizza box, and by the time he was finished in the kitchen she was already asleep in his bed again.

Clint sighed, running his hand over his face. It hurt him to see Natasha so exhausted; he just wanted her to be a healthy, normal teenager like everyone else. Ivan's training was beginning to get out of hand, and it worried him to think about how close she must be to finally become a Black Widow. It wasn't something they had spoken about, but the fear hung heavier over their heads with each passing month.

He took his pyjamas to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water release some of the tension in his shoulders. The room was silent, but the feeling of the water against his skin almost made him think he could hear it. He revelled in it for a moment, letting himself forget all of his worries.

On the way back to his room he snagged the sour worms from the cupboard, hoping he could at least coax Natasha into eating something before the morning. He poured her a glass of water, too, then made his way back down the hall, footsteps soft on the carpet.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was that a pillow was on the floor. Frowning, he set the glass and candy down and picked it up instead. A second later, he heard a high-pitched keening sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Natasha was in the middle of the bed, her body tangled in the sheets. She was curled so tightly she looked like she might explode, but her face was pressed into the mattress and it took a second for Clint to realise that she was having a nightmare. A really bad nightmare.

"Hey, Nat," he called softly, hoping to wake her easily.

Natasha was still, her breathing shallow. He held his breath, waiting to see if the nightmare had passed. She moaned, long and low in the back of her throat, and muttered something that Clint couldn't quite understand. He watched in horror as she suddenly arched off the bed, face contorted in pain, and screamed.

"Nat," Clint tried again, moving before he even knew what he was doing. He climbed onto the bed beside her, and even though every instinct in his body told him not to touch her, he reached out and shook her shoulder. "Wake up."

She jerked upright, eyes opening and breath leaving her body in a short burst. She pushed his hand away, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. Clint reached for her again but she whimpered, curling up with her hands over her head as though she were protecting herself.

"It's just me," Clint said desperately, realising his mistake a moment too late. He withdrew his hand and held them both up, rocking back on his knees. "Hey, I'm sorry. It's just me, it's Clint."

Natasha drew in a shuddering breath, quickly glancing at him with wild eyes before looking away again. He could tell that she didn't really see him, that she was lost somewhere in her head. This kind of nightmare rarely happened; Clint could count on one hand the amount of times she had woken up looking at him like that.

This was worse than those times, though. Usually she saw him, or at least heard his voice and recognised who it was. It was a lot easier to calm her down when that happened. Clint could tell just from the way she was holding herself that she didn't recognise him now. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do next.

"Nat, can you look at me again?" He asked gently. When she didn't move her gaze from the wall he tried a different approach. "Where are you?"

"Russia" she replied automatically, her voice strained. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

"What can you see?" He said, feeling his heart clench.

"I see…" she started to say, then shuddered again. "Is trick. You are –"

"I'm here, in my room," Clint said carefully. "And you're here too, Tash. We're going to bed."

"Is trick," she stressed. She looked at him again, tears streaming down her face. "Is fake. Is to hurt me."

"What can you see?" He repeated. He desperately wanted to reach out to her but knew that would only make things worse. "Tell me."

"Is dark," she whispered. "Is cold. Is table with knife. How you are here?"

"I'm not" he told her firmly. "I'm in my room, and so are you. Sitting on my bed. Can you feel the blanket? It's soft."

She reached out jerkily, her hand landing on the doona with a dull thump. He watched as she clenched her fingers around the blanket, listened to her breath stutter as she looked down at it, blinking hard.

"Soft" she said, then withdrew her hand as though it had burnt her. "Clint?"

"Yea, Tash?" He said.

She brought her other hand up to her face and touched her cheek. When she looked at him this time there was a little more clarity in her eyes. "Is trick?"

"It was a nightmare," he said softly. "It was a fake dream, okay? You're here."

"You grab me," she whimpered. "You grab and I don't –"

She moved towards him and he met her halfway, pulling her into his arms as she broke off into sobs against his chest. He pressed his cheek to the top of her hair, ran his hand up and down her bony spine as she clung to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, rocking them gently. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry, Tasha."

"I'm so tired" she moaned, her breath hot on his neck. "You grab me."

He ran his hand over her hair, trying to ground her, and used his other hand to gently pull her right arm from around his neck. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and held it to his chest, hoping that he could at least offer her a little relief after scaring her awake.

"Lets go to sleep," he told her, and pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple.

"I can't sleep," she said, and began crying again. Clint had never seen her have such a big breakdown before, though he really couldn't blame her. She literally had no energy, he could feel it in the way she had sank into him.

"You can," Clint assured her, and rocked them a little more. She did it to herself when she was overwhelmed, so he figured it couldn't hurt to try. "I'm gonna stay right here, okay, and nobody's gonna hurt you. I got your six, Tash."

"Okay," she sobbed, but the tears were beginning to dry up. She sucked in a huge breath and pressed her face more firmly into his neck. "_Izvinite_."

"Don't be sorry," he whispered. "Just get some sleep, okay?"

She didn't answer him, and he finally felt the remaining tension leave her body completely. It was an awkward position to be in, right in the middle of the bed, but Clint wasn't going to attempt moving to the headboard until he knew she was sound asleep.

Her left arm was draped around his neck, fingers clutching onto his shirt. He kissed her temple again, then her forehead and nose and cheeks, trying to calm himself down. He had really lost her for a second there, and it had scared him beyond belief.

He held her a little tighter, squeezing her wrist so she could feel the pressure. She would be okay, he knew that logically, but a part of him couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be able to recover from the traumas of her childhood. Tomorrow, he would bandage her toes and rub gel into her aching muscles. But for now, just holding her was enough.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

hey guys another update from overseas!! my timing is all over the place sorry!things start to get a lil steamy in this chapter, but nothing graphic (our kids are growing up omg) but if you're not into it, you can skip to the dialogue!hope you enjoy! things are gonna get crazy!! :) and as always, thanks for the support and reviews, i appreciate you all so much x

* * *

Edith slid a thick envelope across the table to Clint. "This is in case something ever happens, okay?"

"Like what?" Clint asked suspiciously. He thumbed the envelope, peeking inside at the wad of notes. "Woah. This is too much."

"Barney got some too," she assured him. She reached up to play with the necklace around her neck, the very same one she had never been able to afford before. Clint knew she did it when she was nervous. "It's only a couple of hundred, and it's only for emergencies."

"Just because you have money now doesn't mean you need to throw it away," Clint snapped. "God, use it to pay off the house or, I don't know, buy more groceries. The fridge is nearly empty."

Edith blinked at him, surprised by his sudden outburst. He hadn't mean to sound so angry, but it was hard not to be. Edith and Howard had quickly become tired of spending Edith's limited wins on essentials and were now just splurging on whatever they wanted. Clint had thought that it would get better with extra cash around, but in reality they were still just as poor as ever.

"Clinton," she said eventually, composing herself. "That's none of your business."

"It is when I'm the one who has to live here," he told her.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "No one is stopping you from leaving."

Clint felt like the air had been knocked out of him. It was one thing for Howard to hate him, because Howard had always hated him. But his mum was different; she had never been perfect, not even when he was a kid, but she had always cared about him. The look on her face now showed him how much she had changed, how much his father had managed to corrupt her. It hurt.

The front door opened, a blast of hot air filling the kitchen. Edith narrowed her eyes slightly and Clint glanced over his shoulder to see Natasha in the doorway, kicking her tennis shoes off. He smiled tightly at her and she frowned, head tilted to one side as she tried to get a read on him.

"Hello, Natasha" Edith said. She didn't sound impressed, though Clint couldn't think of one reason why she would be mad at Natasha too. Edith had always loved her, and didn't care anymore that she often slept over without Clint asking.

"Hi Mrs Barton" she replied. "How are you?"

"Just fine," his mum said. "What brings you here today?"

This made Natasha pause, and she looked at Clint with one eyebrow raised. He sighed and stood, taking his lunch scraps over to the bin.

"Nat's here to hang out," he explained. He dumped the plate in the sink and quickly filled a glass with water, drinking it all in a few gulps. "If that's okay."

He almost expected his mum to say no, just to be spiteful. "Natasha is always welcome here, you know that."

Natasha grinned at her, brilliant and big, and now it was Clint's turn to frown at her.

Natasha only smiled like that when she was all but bursting with happiness; Clint could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her smile like that before. She didn't seem to think there was a problem, though, and walked past him down towards his bedroom.

"Be careful with that one," Edith warned, and

Clint scoffed as he plucked the envelope of cash off the table.

"You don't know a thing about her," he said, then left before she could make him really angry.

The money felt heavy and wrong in his hand, but he wasn't about to say no just to make a point. He needed all the cash he could get his hands on so that he could leave as soon as he graduated. There was no way he would be staying in Waverley, given the chance to leave.

He groaned loudly as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind him. Natasha caught the envelope when he threw it to her easily, and he watched her eyes widen as she flicked through the notes.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Money from mum," he said, throwing himself down onto the bed beside her. "For emergencies, apparently. So now I have a bow and a wad of cash in case, I don't know, we suddenly fall under attack."

"Bow is good idea," Natasha told him. She tossed the envelope onto the ground and Clint watched a couple of the notes flutter out, resting on the carpet. "I take back if you don't want anymore."

"Um, no" Clint said, rolling over onto his stomach so he could look at her. "I'm keeping that forever."

"Okay," Natasha agreed. She bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then ruffled his hair and sat back again.

Clint pouted. "No fair. I always kiss you for way longer."

"You get what you're given, Natasha signed, but she put her hand back on his head and began to run her fingers through his hair absently.

"Didn't really expect to see you today," he told her. The feeling of her fingers was making him sleepy. He propped his chin up with his hand, cheek pressed against her thigh. "Not that I'm mad about it or anything."

He felt Natasha shrug. "Is boring by myself."

"Ivan out again?" Clint asked incredulously. "What does he actually do?"

"He is busy organising, I don't know" she said. "I don't ask. Is easy to just ignore sometimes."

"Yea," Clint mumbled. "Guess so."

"You fight with your mum?" Natasha said. She moved her hand away and Clint instantly missed the feeling of her fingers. He struggled into a sitting position next to her, pressing his shoulder against hers.

"Yea, kinda" he admitted. "She just doesn't get it. She's acting a bit like dad."

"She hit you?" Natasha snapped. She reached over and grabbed him by the chin, forcing his head around so she could inspect his face. "Where?"

"No, no," Clint assured, pushing her hand away. "Nothing like that. I didn't mean… that stuff."

"Okay," she conceded, then signed, _but you will tell me if she does_?

_Of course_, he signed back. _But she wouldn't. I'm pretty_ _sure she never would, even if it was really bad_.

_Good_, Natasha said._ I like her. I don't want her to be like_ _that_.

_I like her too_, Clint said, feeling a twinge of sadness in his chest. It was hard to think of the way his mum was now, compared to the way she used to act when he was a kid.

Natasha lay her head on his shoulder. She was fiddling with her fingers in her lap, a habit Clint knew was a precursor to her unintentionally hurting herself. She had been trying to break it for a long time, so Clint gently took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers, hoping to help before it escalated into scratching her arms.

"You feeling okay?" He asked carefully, remembering the way she had smiled in the kitchen.

Natasha didn't answer him, instead turning her head to kiss him again. It was harder than before, more urgent, and Clint automatically pressed into her, dropping her hand to instead tangle his fingers in her hair. She moaned softly against his lips, and Clint felt all rational thought leave his brain in a second.

They had been together for two short months, though it felt like a lot longer to Clint. He supposed it had to do with the fact that he had had feelings for her for years, but even now he was still hesitant to call it dating. Everything that had happened between them was far from normal; they didn't really fall into the typical category of boyfriend and girlfriend, and even if they did Clint didn't really know if he would call Natasha his girlfriend. She was his best friend, his partner in crime. He knew those things were more important to her than labelling whatever it was they had.

Natasha climbed onto his lap, barely breaking contact with his lips. He ran his free hand over her back, then reached up to cup her cheek and deepen the kiss. She ghosted her hands over his chest, across his shoulders and then linked them behind his neck, holding him even closer to her. She pulled away slightly and tilted her head, and he pressed hot kisses against the soft skin of her neck.

Things were escalating, but Clint was too dizzy from the smell of strawberries on Natasha's skin. She moved back, her lips burning across his cheek before they found his again. He felt desire pool deep in his belly, and struggled to make even one rational thought as he kissed her back just as fiercely. She worked her hands between their bodies and pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it aside.

She tugged at his shirt too, and he broke away just long enough to help her take it off. He was hot, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Clint put his hands on her waist, then slowly moved them up until he could feel the back of her bra. He hesitated, opening his eyes and pulling apart to see if she was okay with it.

Natasha moaned again and brought her lips down to his shoulder instead, placing delicate, breathy kisses across to his collar bone. He tried to draw in a solid breath, tried to focus on what he wanted to ask her, but she was making it nearly impossible to form any kind of coherent thought.

"Do it," she whispered, her voice sounding just as breathless as he felt.

Clint didn't need to be told twice. He fumbled for a second before he finally figured out how to unhook her bra, then helped her pull her arms out of the straps. He carefully moved so that he could meet her gaze, holding her chin gently with his hand.

"You're beautiful," he told her, not caring that it was probably the cheesiest thing he could possibly say in the moment. He kissed her again, not noticing her slight hesitation before she kissed him back. He brought his hands to her waist and awkwardly flipped them over so that Natasha was on her back.

He made his way from her lips down to her shoulder, then across her chest to the top of her breast. He glanced up at her slightly, just wanting to be sure that they were both on the same page and okay with how things were progressing. He was horrified to see a tear run smoothly down her cheek.

"Hey, hey," he said, stopping instantly and moving his head back up so that they were eye level. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Natasha said huskily. She tried to close the distance between them but Clint pulled back, hovering over her. Something was clearly wrong, though he couldn't think of what it could be.

"Tasha, we can stop," he told her softly, brushing the tear away with his thumb.

She drew in a shuddering breath. "_Nyet_. I want to."

"Why are you crying?" He asked. "It's fine if we just stop."

"You don't want me," she whimpered, just quiet enough that Clint had to watch her lips to make sure he understood what she was saying. "You don't, I know."

"Trust me, Tash, I want you," he said. "I've been saying that for months now."

"Then why…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

"Because you were just crying. And I don't know what happened to make you cry."

She glanced away from him, and he could tell she was thinking hard about something. He gave her a minute, trying to figure out if he should move away and give her space or if that would make her feel worse. His arms were starting to get a little tired from holding his body weight off of her.

He was startled out of his thoughts as she snaked a hand down between their bodies, reaching for his shorts. He couldn't help the low moan that tore its way from his throat as his body reacted to the feeling of her hand; it was like every inch of him was warm and electric and alive, and he couldn't think past her and the way it felt, could barely hold his head up from dropping down onto her chest in pleasure.

But he did look up again and saw more tears, silvery streaks down her pale cheeks, and it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him.

"Stop," he said, voice shaky and gruff. "Tasha, who are you right now?"

She paused, eyes wide. He didn't know if she was acting, or what she was doing, but it didn't feel like the real her. She had been normal when they were just talking, but before that in the kitchen she had smiled wide at his mum, and just then she had pouted about him not wanting her. Something was clearly going on in her head.

"Tasha," she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and moved her other hand to smack herself in the side of the face. "_Nyet_. _Ya_ _tupoy_."

Clint disentangled himself from her and pushed himself up onto his knees. He grabbed her wrist before she could lash out again and brushed his fingers over the red mark on her cheek, trying to soothe her.

"You're not stupid," he said. "Hey, Tash, look at me."

She opened her eyes and stared at him. The sadness swimming in her gaze made his heart clench, though he was also terrified to find out what was making her look and act so differently.

"I go back," she said softly. "To Russia."

"I know that," Clint said, confused. "You go back every vacation."

"_Nyet_" Natasha mumbled. "Is different now."

Clint swallowed past the lump in his throat. "What do you mean?"

"I go back for good," she admitted. A few more tears fell as she blinked, and Clint wiped them away absently, as though on autopilot. "I go and… they take you. Take everything. I go and don't come back."

"You can't" Clint said. "You can't stay there. You… they can't make you do that."

Natasha nodded, her lower lip wobbling with the effort it was taking to hold back her sobs. "I go next week. I not want to."

"We've gotta get you out of here," Clint said quickly, his brain working over time to try and figure out a plan. "Mum just gave me money, right? We use that to get us out of the state."

"They find me" Natasha protested. She reached up and put her hand on Clint's cheek, and he could feel it shaking against his skin. "Is dangerous for you."

"I don't care," Clint snapped. He sat back and ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm down. He felt like he could vomit his stomach was twisting so much. "We're leaving, okay. We're leaving as soon as we can."

Natasha reached for his shirt and pulled it on over her bare chest, sitting across from him. She tucked her knees up under her chin and regarded him with red-rimmed eyes. She looked impossibly young in that moment. Clint took a deep breath, ready to argue with her.

"Okay," she said softly.

"Okay?" Clint asked incredulously, not believing that she had actually agreed with him.

_When do we leave_? She signed.

_Tomorrow_? Clint suggested after a moment. _I can get_ _some stuff packed in the truck tonight. We can leave at lunch time, say we're going to town to eat. And we just_ _keep driving until, I don't know, we find somewhere to_ _stay for a while_.

_I can meet you at the clearing_, Natasha said. _I can bring weapons. Maybe a little money_.

_Not too many weapons_, Clint told her. _So what was going on with you before_?

_I thought if I could just pretend, it would go away_, she admitted, the signs small as though she were too scared to make them_. I thought I could make it go away for a while, if I just acted like someone else. But it's getting harder to pretend around you_.

_It'll be okay_, he assured her. We're gonna get out of here, together. _And you won't have to pretend anymore_.

Natasha nodded, then crawled across the bed to sit in his lap. She tucked her head under his chin, ear resting over his heart. He wrapped his arms around her small form and held her tightly. He couldn't quite believe that they wanted to send her back for good; they hadn't even graduated yet, and a part of him had just assumed that nothing bad would happen until then. They were supposed to have more time to work things out.

"I want it," she said. "Before, I want it. But not for right reason."

"It's okay" Clint said, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "After tomorrow, we're gonna have all the time in the world to kiss. And stuff."

"And stuff," Natasha echoed, laughing. "Okay. It sound good."

He could feel her twisting her fingers against his chest but just let her go. They had bigger things to worry about now, like how they would successfully be able to run away from home. Clint didn't want to think about how it was probably impossible to escape a secret Russian spy program. They would give it their best shot.

Everything was going to change after tomorrow. For once, Clint didn't feel scared. He felt ready.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

im sorry :(

(as usual thanks for reading, thanks for your support and reviews and i hope you enjoy!! x)

* * *

Time was moving too slowly. Clint glanced at his phone again to see that barely five minutes had passed since the last time he had checked. He tucked it back into his pocket and sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee impatiently.

"You got somewhere to be?" Barney asked.

"Nope," Clint replied, keeping his eyes on the baseball game on TV. He really wanted to check the time again but knew it would be useless. "Just bored."

"Right," Barney drawled. "You gonna be like this all vacation?"

"Nope" Clint said again. His stomach was twisted in knots, and he felt anxiety pooling beneath his skin. It could be the last time he would ever see Barney, and he wouldn't even be able to say goodbye.

"Natasha go back to Russia yet?"

Clint took his phone out of his pocket. "Nope, next week."

"You're gonna miss her," Barney sang, then reached over and knocked the phone out of Clint's hand. "Get off that thing."

"Hey!" Clint cried, reaching desperately for his phone. He turned it over and glanced at the screen. Two minutes had passed since his last check. "Cut it out."

"What're you waiting for exactly?" Barney narrowed his eyes at Clint. "You're so jumpy."

"Nothing, okay," Clint said. He stood up and took his glass off the coffee table, then headed down the hall to his room. Barney was being too nosey, and a part of Clint was worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut around his brother. No one could know his plan.

He walked around his room making sure that everything important was packed and ready to go. He had a duffel bag by the door, filled with clothes and whatever toiletries he thought he would need. He had shoved the emergency cash into his jacket pocket, and even had Yulia and Natasha's Harry Potter books stacked beside the bag. It didn't look like much, but Clint figured it would probably be easier to leave without taking many things.

He just had to wait for Barney to move from the lounge, or else he would need to take everything out to the truck through his bedroom window. Edith was at the butchers with Harold, actually doing work. She had wanted Clint to help her in the store but he had made up an excuse about homework and needing to meet friends at the library. Besides, he was still annoyed with her after their fight yesterday.

He was getting antsy again. He wished he had a way to communicate with Natasha but they were in the dark. He just had to last another hour before he could meet her in the clearing.

He couldn't stop thinking everything through, and wondered if she was as worried as he was. Logically, he knew they wouldn't have much chance at staying hidden from a secret Russian spy organisation, but he was going to try his hardest to keep Natasha away from them.

Whatever it took, he was ready to risk it all.

* * *

Clint carefully placed his folding bow in the glove compartment of the truck, then shut the door and leant back against it. He looked over his house, at the chairs on the porch and the steps they had bounded up more times than he could count. It wasn't a nice house, and most of his memories associated with it were traumatic, but he couldn't help feel a little sad at having to leave it all behind.

He had met Natasha there, on the porch steps. They had climbed trees in the backyard and slammed the kitchen door behind them on hot days. She had curled up on one of the chairs there the first time she had come back from Russia; he couldn't even begin to count the amount of times she had hauled herself through his bedroom window at night. They had a lot of history there, but at the end of the day he knew it was just a house, just a place he had lived, much like the circus had been.

He was only sixteen. He wondered absently if he should feel worse about leaving his family behind. They would think he was stupid to run off with a girl, even a girl like Natasha, who needed someone to run away with her. He didn't think about how he could be making a huge mistake by finally doing what he had always said he would. It was easier to pretend that it was just a normal step most teenagers took in life.

Clint sighed and made his way slowly back into the house. Barney was still on the couch, so he had had to throw everything out the window and take it around the back to avoid suspicion. The truck was ready to go now, packed with all of his essentials and even a few snacks in case they didn't stop for a while. As time went on, though, an odd, uneasy feeling was growing in his belly. He brushed it off, blaming it on nerves. Everything was going according to plan.

"I'm just gonna go into town for a bit," Clint said, jangling the keys in his hand.

Barney didn't take his eyes off the TV. "Okay. Hey, bring me back some lunch would you? A burger from Ed's?"

Clint swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Yea, okay. I'll get one for you."

"Don't forget the fries" Barney said. "And if you're taking Natasha, make sure she tries the chocolate shake. I told her there was nothing better but she doesn't believe me."

"Right," Clint replied. "I'll, uh, make sure she gets one."

Barney didn't say anything else, too focused on the baseball game. Clint wanted to tell him that he was thankful that he had had Barney growing up, even if his brother did annoy him more often than not, but he knew it would give too much away. He turned and left instead, fighting back tears that suddenly pricked behind his eyes.

He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to his mum, either. He was annoyed at her, but she was still his mum, and he really did love her. He wanted to drive to the butchers and tell her what was happening, let her know that he would be okay. He knew that even if she didn't show it, she would be worried when he never came home. He didn't want to put her through the stress and pain. He was too far in to turn back now.

He backed the truck out of the driveway, and instead of heading down the route him and Natasha had walked for years, he turned the opposite way and followed the gravel road to the clearing. He parked the truck under a tree, slightly hidden even though there would be nobody coming along that road anyway.

Natasha wasn't there, and the bad feeling in his stomach intensified. He pushed it down and got out, stretching his arms high above his head.

The little hut still stood, half-finished on the edge of the clearing. Clint had never actually been inside it; as a kid, he had almost been too scared to walk through the gap in the wall. He knew that Natasha went in there, and had sometimes been left in there by Ivan, but he didn't know exactly why or what happened to her. Even now, as he walked slowly towards it, he felt cold dread settle over his skin.

He poked his head inside and was surprised by what he saw. There wasn't much in there, and a few weeds had started to grow up through the cracks in the floor. In one corner was a blanket, and above it attached to the wall was an iron hoop that had a pair of handcuffs dangling from it. Clint's stomach clenched at the sight of it, but it wasn't actually as bad as he had imagined.

In the opposite corner there was a backpack, looking out of place amongst the dirty blanket and floorboards. He quickly crossed over to it and yanked it out, taking a few unsteady steps away from the hut. It made him feel weird and uneasy to be so close to a place that he knew Natasha had been hurt in before.

He unzipped the backpack and whistled lowly to himself, reaching in to pull out a pistol. Natasha hadn't been lying when she said she would bring the weapons. There were a couple more guns, and a very impressive set of knives that Clint found in the front pocket. It was the closest he had been to a gun and whilst he wasn't uncomfortable, it did feel different to actually be holding one instead of just talking about it with Natasha.

He found a note with the knives, Natasha's curly writing flowing over the page and telling him that she had left something behind but she would see him in a minute. It didn't ease the growing nerves he felt, though. He took the bag to the truck and tried to shake it off, checking his phone. It was just after lunch, the time they had agreed to meet.

He climbed back into the truck and sat behind the wheel, trying to still his shaky hands on the wheel. She had just forgotten one thing, and the note said she would be back soon. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Nothing was wrong; everything was going to plan.

He just had to wait a little longer. No big deal.

* * *

It was nearly 5pm when Clint finally admitted that something could be wrong.

He felt sick walking away from the truck with just his bow and a handful of arrows strapped to his bag. He had thought about taking the gun but wasn't entirely sure he knew what to do with it, and besides, arrows were quiet. Natasha hadn't showed up at lunch, and as the hours had ticked by Clint had managed to convince himself that she was still just getting things ready.

As the air began to cool slightly, he had realised that maybe she couldn't physically come back to the clearing. His head swam with images of Ivan chaining her to the bed, or injecting murky liquids into her arms. He tried not to picture anything worse but his anxiety had crept up his spine until it was all he could feel.

He just knew that he had to get to her. He had never been inaked her house but the sight of it was familiar. The windows were dark, not that it really mattered. There was still enough sunlight to see clearly around, which didn't help Clint's nerves at all. He would be easily seen as he crept around the back of the house, hoping to find a back door.

The house was basically identical to Clint's, so he could pick the lock to the wire door pretty easily. He wouldn't be able to hear anyone coming, and it was almost enough to get him to turn around. He needed to find Natasha though, he had to make sure she was okay and she hadn't been hurt and she hadn't already been taken –

Clint took a minute to breathe, trying to calm his racing heart. She had been in the clearing that morning, had left the backpack with the note for him to find. She wouldn't have left already, she couldn't have left already.

"Whatever you forgot better be worth it, Tash," he muttered to himself before entering the house.

It was bare, which unsettled Clint. There was barely any furniture, no pictures on the walls or scuff marks along the floor. He walked as quietly as possible, not really caring if he was caught now. Something was wrong, he could feel it manifesting in the pit of his stomach. He had to find her. They had to leave together.

He checked the doors along the hall until he found a room that actually had something in it. There was only a single bed, with one itchy looking blanket folded on top. A pair of handcuffs hung from one of the wire posts, and it only took Clint a second longer to realise that he was standing in Natasha's room. He swallowed the bile in his throat and took a shaky step forward, opening the door fully.

There was a boarded over window, and a large wardrobe up against the other wall. There was nothing else in the room to signify that anyone had ever actually lived there. It was impersonal and cold, the kind of room that sent a chill up his spine.

His foot brushed against something and he tore his eyes away from the bed to look down and see one of hoodies crumpled by the door. Frowning, he stopped to pick it up, running his fingers over the soft material. Natasha had worn this hoodie after ballet a few times, but he hadn't seen it for a while. He didn't know that she had kept it.

He stared at it for a minute, trying to work out exactly what he was seeing. The thought rushed into him and before he knew it he was falling, knees slamming into the floor with such force that it knocked his teeth together. He tried to breathe, tried to do anything other than let the blinding panic consume him, but it was useless. He suddenly knew what Natasha had been going back for. It was clear that she hadn't made it.

Clinging to a shred of hope, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled down the hall, past a sparse lounge room as into the kitchen. The fridge was empty, and as he went along slamming cupboards open it became clear that there was no food in the house at all. He searched through a pile of newspapers on the table, looking for something that could prove to him that someone was still living there.

There were no car keys, no wallet or phones to be seen. Anger seared through him so suddenly that he started to run, skidding down the hall and throwing open the only other door he hadn't tried. It was clearly the master bedroom, and had the most furniture out of any of the other rooms in the house. Ivan's bed was huge, fitted with some of the softest blankets Clint had ever seen.

"Son of a bitch," he said out loud, breathing deeply. He tried not to think about Natasha's tiny bed and instead began pulling open drawers to try and find something useful.

A lot of random stuff had been left behind in his room, but Ivan seemed to have taken everything important. Clint's eyes quickly scanned a stack of documents written in Cyrillic, but he hadn't properly learnt how to read it. None of it mattered, anyway. The proof was staring him in the face.

A mangled sob clawed its way up his throat and he staggered out, everything blurred as though he were underwater. He pushed his way out the front door and then fell to his knees again, vision swimming as he struggled for breath. A second later he vomited, fingers digging into his thighs so violently that it forced air back into his lungs.

"Fuck you!" He screamed at no one in particular. His chest ached with each breath, but none of it mattered. Natasha was gone. Ivan was gone. They were supposed to have left next week, him and Natasha were supposed to have time. They were supposed to leave together. They were supposed to –

Clint cried. He sat on front lawn of Natasha's abandoned house and sobbed, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Natasha was gone. He remembered the way she had kissed him before going home last night, the mischievous glint in her eye as she had climbed out of his window at midnight.

"Maybe we join circus" she had joked, and he had laughed with her, holding her hand until both her feet were safely on the ground. He had touched her cheek, felt love for her swell in his chest until he could burst from it.

And then she had walked away, her red curls loose down her back, not looking back at him because she knew she would see him soon.

She was gone. He hadn't said goodbye last night. Hadn't even humoured the notion that something could go wrong. He should have trusted his gut and listened to the uneasy feeling that had only been growing. Maybe then Natasha wouldn't have gone back for the hoodie and they would be on the road, driving towards their future together.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shake the thought from his head. She was gone and he couldn't do anything about it. He would probably never see her again. Never get to hold her or listen to her vibrant laugh, or let her know how loved she was. It made him want to get on the next plane to Russia and drag her back himself.

He couldn't do it though. Instead he stood, wiped his face on his arm and made his way slowly back to where he had left the truck in the clearing. He would have to answer Barney's questions about where he had been for hours. He would have to unpack everything and hide the weapons Natasha had left. After vacation, he would have to go back to school and face Laura and Rachel.

All of it felt impossible. Clint was numb as he started the truck. He thought about just driving away anyway, of going off on his own and maybe one day tracking Natasha down. He headed for home instead.

Natasha was gone. Nothing else mattered anymore.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

hey guys, here's a lil filler chapter so we can see how poor clint's coping :( thanks for all your support and reviews on the last chapter, it means the world to me!! :)

hope you enjoy xx

* * *

**August**

The door flew open, pushing a gust of air towards where Clint lay in bed. He cracked an eye open at the sensation and saw Barney standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and looking unimpressed.

His lips moved but Clint couldn't hear it. He yawned and scrubbed a hand over his face, then glanced back over to see that Barney was still trying to talk to him. Frustration bubbled in his chest and he pulled the cover back over his head.

"I can't hear you," he said out loud. He couldn't tell if he was speaking loud enough for Barney to hear him, but a second later the doona was yanked from off of him and Barney was grabbing a handful of his shirt, pulling him upright.

Clint shoved him off, glaring. "What the hell?"

Barney moved closer to Clint's face, one hand on either side of his body so he couldn't look away. "Read my lips, asshole. Mum said this is your last chance."

Clint thought about closing his eyes so he couldn't actually see Barney's lips, but the look on his brothers face told him it would be a bad idea. He huffed instead and shuffled back on the bed, putting some space between them.

"I'm not hungry" he said, hating the way he couldn't tell what volume he was speaking in. The words felt chunky on his tongue when his aids weren't in, similar to how he felt trying to speak Russian with Natasha.

"She said you have to go to school or dad will come in here again," Barney said.

_Whatever_, Clint signed, even though he knew Barney didn't know any ASL.

"Natasha will be waiting," Barney pushed. "Don't know why she would bother when you've been in a mood for weeks."

"She's not coming back from Russia" Clint snapped. "Okay? She's not coming back."

Barney said something else but Clint couldn't make it out through his suddenly blurry eyes. He drew in a deep breath and pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to catch the tears before they fell. He didn't see or hear Barney leave. He couldn't make out anything over the sudden ache in his chest, and pushed his head between his knees until he could catch his breath again.

He had been having more frequent panic attacks ever since Natasha had been taken. He usually didn't know what caused them, and just had to wait them out every time he felt anxiety pool in his stomach. It was as though as his body was subconsciously reliving the moment he had realised she was gone, and as much as he tried not to think about it he couldn't get her out of his head.

He didn't want to know what had happened to her. A part of him thought it would be easier to just pretend she never existed in the first place, since she had basically been erased from his life already. He hadn't lasted long, though; it was too hard to forget her laugh and her smile and the way his heart burst every time he looked at her. She was his best friend. He had quickly realised it was easier to remember her those ways, rather than think about what she might be like now.

Feeling calmer, Clint sat up straight again, stretching his arms above his head and feeling the pull in his shoulders. He had spent nearly every day in the clearing practising his archery, and had even had a go at one of the guns Natasha had left behind. It made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile, and it helped take his mind off things. Now school was back, though, and Clint didn't really feel like facing Laura and Rachel after he had pushed them away all vacation.

The door swung open again and Edith entered the room. Clint braced himself, ready for her to yell at him for being lazy. Just last week Harold had hit Clint for not leaving his room for dinner, and then kept the beatings up for the rest of the week. Edith never did anything to help, but it had been so long since his father had hit him that Clint hadn't even thought to fight back.

He didn't have the energy anymore. He just wanted everything to stop.

Edith sat on the bed beside him and gestured to his ears, trying to finger spell something to him. Clint saved her the hassle and pushed his aids onto his ears, letting the world come to life around him for the first time in days.

"Barney told me about Natasha," Edith said.Clint winced at the sound. It felt weird to hear again, and his ears were unaccustomed to the different pitches after being in silence for so long.

"I'm sorry, bud" she continued, using the nickname he hadn't heard in years. "I know she was a good friend to you."

"Yea," Clint said, voice gruff. "Last time you saw her you didn't seem to like her."

Edith paused, looking uncomfortable. "I was worried. I heard something about her uncle and…"

"What?" Clint breathed. "What do you mean?"

"It was at poker night," Edith said. "It doesn't matter. I was just worried for you."

"You've not really been around enough to be worried, mum," Clint snapped. "You don't know anything about Natasha."

Edith frowned. She was obviously hurt, but Clint was tired of her pretending that she cared as much for him as she used to. She wasn't the same mum he remembered from four years ago, the mum that give him pocket money even though she couldn't afford it just so he could have a new toy.

"You still need to go to school, even if you don't want to," she said eventually. "And you need to go before your father wakes up."

Clint scoffed. "Solid advice, mum."

"I'm sorry about Natasha" Edith said. "I know it hurts."

Clint though that just hurting would be better than the agony he felt, but he couldn't tell her that. She thought that they were still just friends; even though they had only had the chance to date for a couple of months, Clint hadn't told anyone in his family, though he was sure that Barney had his suspicions.

It only ached because he knew what she would be going through. It would've been easier to have never learnt all of the dark secrets that Natasha kept close to her chest. It would have been better to just think that she went back to Russia to visit family like Ivan had told everyone else. Sometimes he wished that they had never been so close, that Natasha had never trusted him the way she did.

"I'll go to school," he said before he started to spiral again. "I'll see you later."

Edith smiled and went to press a kiss to his forehead, but he moved slightly at the last second. He felt sick, like his whole body was under constant stress. He waited until she had left the room before throwing his pillows off the bed in anger.

He reached into his bedside table drawer and pulled out the Army pamphlet he had picked up in town the previous week. He didn't want to tell his mum that he wasn't planning on finishing school and was instead going to join the Army when he turned seventeen next year. Harold would give him permission, he already knew that. The form was already filled out; all it needed was a signature.

He just had to get through the next few months, and then he would be out of Iowa for good.

* * *

At lunch Clint sat inside on his own, lunch unwrapped in front of him. He was a little hungry after not having time for breakfast, but his stomach was still cooked tightly from everything that had happened that morning. He couldn't stop thinking about what Edith could possibly have heard about Ivan to make her wary of Natasha.

Laura sat down opposite him. "Hey stranger."

He glanced up at her, then scanned the rest of the cafeteria for Rachel. She was sitting with some of her other friends, and when she saw Clint looking she quickly turned away.

"Hey," Clint said carefully. He fiddled with his sandwich, then took a bite so he wouldn't have to say anything else.

"We missed you guys over vacation," Laura said. "Did we do something wrong? Or were you just too busy making out to answer our texts?"

"Sorry," he replied automatically, forcing the wad of sandwich down his throat. "I was… busy. Doing other things."

Even as he said it, he didn't believe himself. Laura rolled her eyes and Clint almost expected her to leave, but she started to unwrap her own lunch. He looked over at Rachel's table again and frowned, feeling a little guilty.

"Where's Rachel?" He asked, pretending he hadn't seen her.

"She didn't feel like sitting here today," Laura said matter of factly. "She's annoyed with you."

"For not answering her texts," Clint finished. "Yea. I get it."

"She still has a giant crush on you, you know" Laura told him. "I don't know what's going on with you and Natalia, but Rachel was kinda hoping she still had a chance."

"Nothings happening," Clint said bitterly, not able to stop the venom from seeping into his voice. "She's gone back to Russia and she's not coming back."

Laura looked shocked, her eyebrows raised. They sat in tense silence for a minute, Clint looking anywhere but at Laura's face. He finished his sandwich in a couple of bites and considered just getting up and leaving. He hadn't meant to snap at Laura, but every time he spoke about it, it made it more real.

"I'm sorry, Clint," Laura said, reaching out and resting her hand on his forearm. "Did you know?"

"Yea, kinda," Clint muttered, suddenly feeling like he might cry. "We were s'posed to have more time."

"I thought she was just going for vacation," Laura said, and now she just looked sad. "I would've said a real goodbye."

Clint didn't answer, lost in his own thoughts. He didn't get to say a real goodbye to Natasha, either, and the thought of it had been keeping him up most nights. He didn't even know what he would have said to her. When he knew what she was going back to, 'I love you' didn't seem to cut it.

"Is that why you didn't reply to us?" Laura asked gently.

Clint nodded, then blew out a breath that sounded more like a laugh. "I was too busy feeling sorry for myself."

"You love her" Laura said decisively. "I always saw it, you know. Even back when we were kids."

"Loved" Clint clarified. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. "I _loved_ her, Lau."

"You're not gonna stop just because she's gone," Laura said, pulling her hand away from his arm. "You can still love someone who's not here, Clint."

Clint couldn't answer her. His throat was tight, and for one moment he thought he was going to have another panic attack. He breathed deeply, trying to control it. There was no way he would live down having a breakdown in the middle of the cafeteria. It was the first time he had admitted to someone else that he did love Natasha, and the realisation of it made him feel a little sick.

Laura was right, of course. As much as he had tried to convince himself he could get over Natasha, he knew it would be hard. She had left such an impact on his life that he could feel the imprint of her deep in his bones.

"Don't push us away," Laura murmured. "She's my friend too."

Clint nodded, not trusting his voice. He noticed Rachel watching them and offered her a small smile. He was surprised when she returned it, and even gave him a little wave. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have Laura and Rachel to talk to, or just hang out with. At least until he went to the Army.

"Right," he said. "I'll text you back next time."

Laura laughed, and for one split second, everything felt exactly as it should be.

* * *

When Clint got home, the first thing he smelt was something burning. He rushed into the kitchen, yanking the oven door open and letting a cloud of smoke out. He covered his mouth and nose, coughing as the air grew thick.

"Aww, pizza," he moaned when he finally recognised the black mass inside the oven.

Barney skidded around the corner, looking mortified. "I forgot the pizza."

"Clearly," Clint muttered, stepping back so Barney could deal with mess. He turned around and came face to face with Harold, and suddenly instead of smoke all he could smell was alcohol.

"Dad" he said, ducking his head. He was a lot stronger than his father, but he seemed to freeze around him now, especially after the beatings he had experienced last week.

"You went to school?" Harold said, his voice surprisingly clear despite the fact he had clearly been drinking all afternoon.

"Yes sir" Clint answered.

"Who ruined the kitchen?" Harold asked, not taking his eyes off Clint.

"Burnt a pizza, dad," Barney said. "Sorry. I'll clean it up."

"Clinton can clean it up," Harold said, and smacked his hand onto Clint's shoulder. "It's about time he pulled his weight."

Barney was smart enough not to argue. Even though his brother had never really been on the receiving end of one of Harold's violent rampages, Clint knew that he wouldn't risk it. Barney was twenty now and basically allowed to do whatever he wanted. Clint didn't know why he hadn't moved out yet.

"Yes sir," Clint repeated.

They stood in tense silence, Harold squeezing Clint's shoulder tightly and glaring at him. Clint was ready, waiting for the moment his father would strike, sure that at any moment he would feel pain burst across his face.

Edith broke the moment by entering the kitchen, giggling to herself. She was wearing a nice dress and her favourite necklace, and Clint only realised a second later that Harold was dressed up too.

"Let's go, we'll miss out on the raffle," she gushed, winding her way between the bodies in the kitchen to grab her purse. Clint could tell just from the sound of her voice that she was drunk, too.

"The kitchen better be spotless" Harold spat, and slapped Clint's cheek for good measure. "Or there'll be hell to pay."

Clint watched in horror as Harold picked up the car keys, swinging them around in his finger. He wrapped an arm around Edith's shoulder and the two of them stumbled towards the door.

"You can't drive," Clint heard himself say.

Barney glanced at him with wide eyes. Harold turned back slowly, Edith still giggling under his arm, and looked at Clint pointedly.

"What did you say?"

Clint knew he should shut up, but he couldn't believe how stupid his parents were being. They had never driven themselves to a poker night before, especially not after they had been day drinking.

"You can't drive," Clint repeated. "You're drunk."

"Don't be a spoil sport," Edith teased, still laughing. "Party pooper."

Harold crossed over to Clint in three big strides and backhanded him so hard that Clint felt the spurt of blood from his nose before he felt the pain. Before he could straighten up Harold grabbed him by the throat, forcing him back until he ran into the kitchen counter and couldn't go any further.

"If you ever tell me what to do again, I'll kill you," Harold said coldly, face inches from Clint's "Shut your fucking mouth."

Clint couldn't draw a full breath, but he forced himself to nod. Harold let go of him and he caught himself before he fell to the ground. Edith laughed, the sound sharp, but when Clint looked up at her she wasn't smiling.

"Let's go" Harold said, and the two of them left without a backwards glance.

Clint wiped his hand across his nose, catching some of the blood that was still steadily flowing. Barney threw him a cloth and then dumped the pizza in the bin, not making eye contact as he left the kitchen. Clint hadn't expected him to say anything, but it still hurt.

He would be bruised tomorrow, yet it still didn't hurt as much as the ache deep within his chest. He heaved a sigh and set to work on cleaning up Barney's mess, knowing that no matter how spotless he left the kitchen, Harold would still barge into his room that night to finish what he had started.

It almost felt normal. Clint closed his eyes and imagined Natasha climbing through his window, her small, cold hands turning his chin to inspect the bruise. She would be mad, and he would reassure her again that they would be out of this town soon, out on their own with just each other and no one to hurt them.

He opened his eyes, the image fading from his mind. He hadn't kept his promise, not that he'd had a choice. It didn't matter anymore, though.

He was alone again. He pretended not to notice his hands shaking as he set to work.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

oh boy. Big Things happen and it's the start of real change!! thank you so much for your support guys, i hope you're as excited as i am to get into the gritty stuff :)thank you for your reviews too!! they really make me so so happy!! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**September**

The library was warm and quiet, making Clint's head feel heavy and fuzzy. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up. A new Russian-English dictionary sat in front of him, and scattered across the table were a bunch of older language books he had managed to find at the public library. Bringing them all to school was annoying, but it was the only place he had to read them.

He picked up his pen to try and finish his sentence for the third time. The chair beside him pulled out and he looked out of the corner of his eye to see Rachel sit beside him, placing her own book bag on top of some of his books.

"Hey," she said softly, grinning. "Do you mind?"

"All good" Clint replied. He moved some of the books he wasn't using to the side to give her more space.

Rachel picked one of them up and squinted at the front cover. "What's this?"

"A Russian book," Clint answered, looking back at his page. He couldn't remember what he had been about to write.

"Oh," Rachel said. She cast her eyes over the table and came to rest on the dictionary. "You're learning Russian?"

"I can speak it pretty poorly, and I mostly understand it when it's spoken" Clint admitted. "Writing and reading though… that's something else."

He frowned at the Cyrillic letters in his book. The word was on the tip of his tongue, and he really wanted to finish at least one sentence without having to consult the dictionary. He tapped his pen against the page, going over the other words to try and figure out what came next.

"Did Natalia teach you?" Rachel asked, resting her head on her chin.

Clint nodded. "Yea, but like I said, I'm not great."

Rachel smiled again and looked around at the books. Clint could tell she wanted to say something else so he put his pen down again. The sentence would probably come back to him if he stopped honking about it so much.

"Why keep learning it when she's not coming back?" Rachel said eventually, looking him in the eye. "Like, when will you ever need to use it?"

Clint couldn't tell her that he was trying to learn it fluently so that he could go back to Natasha's house and find out what the leftover documents said. Even then, it was more than just wanting answers. He wanted to learn it because she had learned ASL for him, and he felt a little bad that he had never tried harder.

"Something to do" he settled on, and grinned at her for good measure. "What's the point of only doing half of it, ya know?"

"I guess" Rachel laughed. She pulled her own book bag towards her and took out the novel they were studying for English. "I remember Clarissa wanted to learn all the Russian curse words, so she could call Natalia names. But she couldn't read the letters."

Clint knew that Laura had been friends with Clarissa when they were kids, but he hadn't really realised that Rachel had been too. It made sense that the two of them had met each other in Clarissa's little posse. He also hadn't known that Clarissa had been so hell-bent on making Natasha's life miserable.

"She wasn't very nice to us," Clint said carefully. Now that he thought about it, he didn't know if Rachel was still friends with Clarissa. He hadn't seen them together, and Rachel had another group of girls that she hung out with, but it was still hard to tell.

"She was too scared to do anything other than call you names" Rachel said. "But still. That was bad."

"Yea," Clint agreed. He had nearly completely forgotten about Clarissa and the others who used to bully him and Natasha. As they had grown up, the name calling and fighting had become much less frequent. Clint figured they grew bored of it, or maybe they just decided they were too cool to even be bullies. Either way, Clint didn't care; he had quickly realised that bullies at school were the least of his problems.

"I was there the day Natalia hit her, you know," Rachel said casually. "The first time. When she called her a whore. I didn't even know what it meant, just that it was bad, and I didn't really think Natalia would understand it either."

"Nat's smarter than people think," Clint said slowly. He thought back to that day, trying to picture the other two girls that had been with Clarissa. One of them had been Rachel? "Why'd you go along with it?"

"I was a stupid kid" Rachel shrugged, then knocked her shoulder against him. "Hope you can forgive me."

"I don't think about it," Clint told her honestly. He really didn't care about it anymore, not the way that he had when he was ten and it all felt like the end of the world. The world had ended many times since then, and Clint had always started from scratch the next morning.

"Good" Rachel said firmly. "That means I can do this."

She grabbed Clint's face and pulled him towards her, pressing her lips to his. For a second he froze, trying to figure out how he could get away, and then his brain inexplicably short-circuited and he forgot who he was kissing. He kissed her back carefully, but her hands on his cheeks were soft and it felt _nice_, warm and familiar and –

Someone cleared their throat and they pulled apart. Clint opened his eyes expecting to see Natasha's cheeky smirk, her green eyes bright and alive, but everything came crashing down around him when he saw Rachel's flushed cheeks instead.

He let out a shaky breath, not really believing that he had mistaken Rachel for Natasha. She had been gone for months, he knew that she wasn't coming back and yet he had so desperately believed that she had been in front of him. He felt terrible for kissing Rachel back, for not just pushing her away gently before she could get the wrong idea.

"I…" he started to say, then finished the sentence in his head. _Shouldn't have done that_.

Rachel frowned as she noticed the look on his face, eyes wide as though she were only just realising something. "She's not coming back."

He couldn't tell her that he knew it more than anyone. He couldn't tell her that Natasha wasn't just gone from the country, but that she was probably gone altogether; the girl they had known, their _friend_, wouldn't exist anymore. She would be Natalia, one of twenty-eight, a Black Widow born from gunpowder and violence. She wouldn't remember any of them. He was so sure of it that it made his chest burn.

"I'm sorry" he told Rachel instead, clinging to his last shred of self control. He couldn't freak out in the middle of the library, even though his heart felt like it would beat out of chest any second now.

"Did Laura know about…" Rachel trailed off, the flush in her cheeks deepening in colour.

"Yea" Clint said gruffly. "Maybe. We didn't… tell anyone."

"I feel so stupid," Rachel muttered. She shoved her novel back into her book bag, ready to leave. "I kinda had a feeling too. But then she left and I thought it wouldn't matter anymore."

"She's my best friend, Rach," Clint said carefully. "I… This doesn't change anything."

"It does for me," Rachel said. "I've liked you for a really long time, Clint."

"I'm sorry," he said again, not really knowing what else he could say. "I just…"

"Thought it was her?" Rachel guessed. Her smile was sad, but she didn't look angry anymore. "Look, it's fine. I can pretend it didn't happen."

"Rachel –" Clint started to say.

She stood up and pushed her chair in, tugging her book bag more firmly over her shoulder. "Maybe one day we can try this again."

Clint watched her go, feeling guiltier than he probably needed to. He took a deep breath and pushed everything out of his mind. It would be easier to forget it all, like Rachel had said. He didn't know if he would be around for long enough to try it again. He liked her, but only as a friend; he couldn't even count how many times he had told Natasha exactly that when she had been trying to set them up.

He didn't want to think about how he had thought it was Natasha, for a second. The crushing disappointment he had felt still sat heavily on his chest. He could picture her smile so clearly, the one she reserved solely for him. The smile that let him know it was really her, no tricks or acts.

Clint closed his own books and began to pack up his things. He couldn't concentrate on Cyrillic now, not with his brain going a million miles a minute. School would be over soon, and he could go home and try to get things back on track. He had been doing well lately, and wanted to keep it that way.

He stood and collected his things, ignoring the stares directed his way by the other students in the library. He didn't know how much they had heard between him and Rachel, and he wasn't about to stick around and find out.

Sighing, he left the library without looking back, suddenly feeling lonelier than he had in months.

* * *

After school, Clint walked to Natasha's house with the dictionary wedged firmly in his backpack.

For all he could tell, the house had been abandoned, and no one else had moved in yet. Clint checked on it every couple of days, just in case anything changed, but it was always the same. He kept the door to Natasha's room closed, and had moved all of the documents out of Ivan's room to the kitchen table.

He was beginning to decipher a few of them, though he knew it would take him a lot longer to get a clear picture. One sheet of paper had been filled with chemical equations that Clint had no hope of understanding, even translated. He held onto it though, in case it happened to be of any importance.

The document he was currently working on seemed to be a kind of progress report. Most of the information was regarding Natasha; things like height and weight and age. He didn't dwell on the fact that she was underweight for long, having already guessed it himself months ago. He struggled for a while translating a section about her training, which only consisted of running and mixed martial arts.

Most of the things he had translated didn't seem to be too bad. Clint wondered idly if it was in case they fell into the wrong hands. He didn't doubt that Ivan would be able to fake anything he needed, though. Another part of him wondered if it was all just a code for something.

It was dark by the time Clint made his way to his own house. He had a splitting headache across his forehead, and was ready to go straight to bed. As he came up the porch steps the door slammed open and Edith tumbled out, catching herself on the railing.

"You're late," she said, wiggling her finger at him.

"Homework," Clint answered, and tried to step around her. He was stopped by Harold, who stood solidly in the doorway, breath reeking of alcohol. "Dad."

"Homework my ass," Harold grumbled. He shoved Clint in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps. "You disappoint me."

"Leave him alone," Edith fussed. "Let's go."

Clint watched as if in slow motion as Harold slapped Edith, hard, across the face. He lunged towards them but Harold was already moving, and with another push Clint was falling backwards down the stairs, unable to stop himself.

He lay at the bottom for a minute, winded. His head throbbed in time with his ribs as he stared up the steps to where his parents stood. Edith has a hand pressed to her cheek and was crying softly, cowering away from Harold. His father stood tall, looking every bit the monster Clint had always imagined him as a child.

"You stay out of this woman," Harold snapped, and forcefully led her down the stairs.

Clint pulled himself up to rest on his elbows, vision swimming. The fall hadn't been high but it had been hard and fast, and his head had smacked against the ground at the bottom. He wanted to jump up and push back, but Harold only had to kick him hard in the side to send him sprawling out on the grass again.

"Pathetic," Harold growled, and spat at Clint. He pointed down at him, swaying slightly in place as he did so. "You're a freak."

Clint barely had time to throw his hands up to block his face from Harold's foot. Most of the impact was caught by his forearm, but his teeth smashed into his bottom lip and blood flooded into his mouth. He curled in on himself, body tense in preparation for another attack, but it never came. Harold was already making his way over to the car.

"You don't have to go with him," Clint said, speaking directly to his mum.

Edith hesitated, and for a second she looked exactly like she had when Clint was younger. Her eyes filled with tears, and Clint thought she might just run away then and there. Instead she opened the car door and climbed in after Harold, watching Clint out the window until the car was out of sight.

Clint slumped back, blinking his own tears away. He would never understand why his mum kept going back to his dad, or why she put up with him. They were both clearly drunk out of their minds, and it was starting get on Clint's nerves.

He took another second to collect himself before he stood. The world swam for a second and he waited, breathing deeply until it righted itself. His head and side throbbed in unison as he made his way carefully back up the porch stairs, collecting his backpack on the way.

Barney glanced at him when he entered but didn't say anything. Clint didn't feel much like talking, anyway. He still felt horrible about what had happened with Rachel, and kind of wanted the Earth to just open up and swallow him whole. He was tired.

For now, taking a few painkillers and going to bed would have to do.

* * *

Clint woke up to hands shaking his shoulders, and at first he shrunk back, curling up to protect himself. His hearing aids were out, and he had no idea what was going on around him. He cracked an eye open and noticed flashing lights through the curtain of the window, illuminating the room in red and blue.

It was Barney shaking him awake, saying something that Clint couldn't even make out by reading his lips. His brother looked scared, and it was enough for Clint to uncurl himself and reach over to flick the lamp on. His pillow was covered in dried blood from his lip.

Barney didn't wait for Clint to put his hearing aids in. He left the room in a rush once he was sure Clint was awake, leaving the door open behind him. Clint stared at it, feeling a growing sense of dread spread through his stomach.

He put his aids in and gingerly got out of bed. Bruises were already blooming across his stomach, so he pulled a shirt over his head to cover them. Then, he crept down the hall the way he used to when he was a kid, listening as carefully as he could.

He didn't peek around the corner, but still stood in the doorway of the lounge in case he had to make a quick getaway. Barney was sitting on the couch, face pale. There were two police officers standing in front of him, and Clint felt his veins turn to ice.

"You must be Clint," the woman said, moving a little closer to him.

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and tried to meet Barney's gaze. Maybe they knew something about Natasha. Maybe they had come to ask what had been done to her. Or maybe they were there to tell him that she was dead, even though a part of him knew that that wouldn't happen. If Natasha died, he might never know.

"What happened to your face?" The woman asked, and pointed at her own face as if Clint wouldn't know what she was talking about.

"I fell," he managed. He clenched his shaking hands into fists at his side, trying to calm down. "What's going on?"

"My name is Officer David" she said, ignoring him. "You can call me Elizabeth."

"What's going on?" Clint repeated, his voice growing louder. The lights flashing outside belonged to the police cars, he could see that now. "Barney?"

Barney flinched, then rubbed his hands over his face. "The… they had to tell us…"

"What?" Clint interrupted. Fear was clawing it's way up his throat, and he didn't want to know, he wanted to go back to bed and wake up feeling sorry for himself like he usually did. He would go to school and Rachel would avoid him and Laura would roll her eyes, and he would be one day closer to getting out of this town.

Officer David gave him a sad smile. "Maybe you should sit down."

He shook his head no. Her partner stood silently behind her, hands clasped behind his back. Clint wanted him to look up but he stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact.

"It's about your parents," Officer David finally said. "I'm so sorry, Clint."

Clint felt the air rush out of him in one great breath. He stared at the woman without really seeing her, trying to piece together what she had said. His legs felt unsteady, and he reached out to brace his hand against the doorway as black dots crossed his vision.

"There was a car accident," Officer David continued. She took a step closer and put her hand on Clint's shoulder, squeezing it. "I think you should sit down."

Clint let himself be led to the couch, where he sat beside Barney. He couldn't breathe, he tried to remember how to calm down but nothing was processing in his brain. Barney went to reach out to him but then changed his mind, letting his hand fall heavily between them.

"My mum?" Clint gasped, looking up at Officer David with tears in his eyes. "Where's my mum?"

"There was an accident," Officer David repeated. Clint hated the look on her face, though he knew he would never forget it. "The car hit a power pole. I'm so sorry, boys. Both of your parents died at the scene."


	30. Chapter Thirty

hey guys! another lil chapter to fill in some time :) poor clint, he's really going through it huh :( for those asking, a certain someone may be making an appearance very soon, but im not giving anything away!!

thanks for everything, and i hope you enjoy x

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**October**

The month after Clint's parents deaths passed in a blur. The days didn't mean anything to him; he went through the motions without really paying any attention to what he was doing. Barney dealt with the important things, like the funeral and the house and the business, and Clint spent most of his time either in the clearing or at Natasha's house, trying to keep himself occupied.

Barney was granted custody of Clint, and they had enough of Edith's meagre savings left over to pay off the house for at least another month. Things didn't seem to have changed that much, on the surface. Harold had never been around enough to begin with, and Edith hadn't been as present as she once was. Clint didn't give himself a chance to grieve his mother, even though his heart ached every time he thought about her.

He had never fully forgiven her for everything that had happened. He didn't have the chance now.

Most of the cash Clint had saved from his pocket money joined his emergency stash, and he had slowly started taking his important belongings over to Natasha's house. It wasn't that he didn't trust Barney, but some of the money had already gone missing, and his brother was spending more and more time away from home. They had run out of groceries a week ago, and whilst Barney didn't care, Clint had been forced to steal from the store just to keep them going.

He had the money to pay for it, but it was easier to pretend that he didn't around Barney. Every time he came home with another loaf of bread or piece of fruit, his brother would leave him alone. Clint didn't have any solid proof that Barney was actually doing anything bad, but there was a new edge to his brother that he had only seen in one other person before: their father.

He hadn't been to school, and probably wouldn't go back at all. Laura had text him after news of the accident reached town, and Rachel had even come with her to the funeral. Clint had appreciated their support, even though he was trying to distance himself from them. Things were weird and he was uncertain about almost every aspect of his life. When he inevitably had to leave, he wanted it to be easy.

It was a mild day, but the nights were getting cooler. Clint packed up his bow and arrows and stashed them in the hut. It had become a hiding place of sorts, a place that no one knew about except him and Natasha. He was starting to think like that; like he had to watch out for himself the way his father had warned him when he was a kid. A part of him knew it was only a matter of time before something blew up in his face.

Back at the house, Barney had rows of cash stacked on the table and was sorting them into bundles. Clint closed the door behind him and stood watching, trying to count the notes. There was a crazy amount of money there, more money than Clint even had in his own stash.

Barney didn't look up when he spoke. "What you staring at?"

"Nothing" Clint grunted, and moved into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of juice, then changed his mind and reached for one of his father's beers. "Where'd you get all of that?"

"I have a job" Barney said. He began to place the money in a bag, finally glancing over at Clint. "Why? You want in?"

"Depends on what you're doing," Clint answered carefully.

"Well you're not going to school, right?" Barney said. "What else you gonna do?"

Clint shrugged and took a swig of the beer. The taste took him back to the night of his birthday, when he drank himself to oblivion because he thought his dad might be good for once. He could remember Natasha's hand on his arm in the dark. Everything else was blurry.

"Here's the deal," Barney said. He placed the bag on the table and came around the counter into the kitchen too, reaching for his own beer. "I met up with someone. An old friend."

Clint frowned, feeling anxiety prickle under his skin. "Who?"

"Dad was working with him too," Barney continued, ignoring Clint. "They had this great plan, and it was working real well for a while. That's where some of the money came from. Then they gave half to mum and she tried to double it."

"Sounds illegal," Clint snarked. "Who's the friend?"

"You were just a kid, you wouldn't remember," Barney shrugged. "The circus was a long time ago."

Clint felt all of his fears slam into him at once. He hadn't wanted to believe that Barney was hanging around with the wrong people, but it was clear now. There was only one person from the circus that he could be talking about, and the thought of him had Clint's stomach clenching and his palms sweating.

He had told Natasha years ago that he didn't remember much of the circus, or what had happened there to cause him to lose his hearing. The memories had been trickling into his mind, though, as if his brain had stopped suppressing them after all this time. He hadn't told anyone they were back, not even Natasha. He didn't think it would matter. A part of him was too scared to talk about it.

"Not Trick Shot" Clint said lowly, trying to control the tremor in his voice.

Barney raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Maybe you do remember."

Clint wasn't sure how he had ever forgotten. Trick Shot had taught him to shoot, placing the bow and arrows in his hands when he wasn't even strong enough to draw back. Clint had admired him, wanted to _be him_, until the night he had caught his hero with his hands wrapped around Edith's neck. Clint had run to tell his father, heart pounding, and the fight between the two men had somehow resulted in Clint losing his hearing.

"He taught me to shoot" Clint said. "Gave me my first bow."

"Oh yea," Barney laughed, the sound too loud for Clint in the small space of the kitchen. "I completely forgot about that."

"Him and dad… they fought," Clint said. He squinted as though it would make the memory clearer in his head. "Trick Shot was hurting mum."

"They fought because dad was stealing money, with Jacques," Barney explained. "They had a whole plan, and it worked for a while. Now Trick Shot has made it better."

"No, I saw it," Clint protested, feeling his frustration begin to grow. "Trick Shot had mum and he was hurting her. I went and got dad and they fought and then…"

"You were a kid, you wouldn't remember properly," Barney said. "Jacques got too cocky."

"I do remember," Clint snapped. "I finally fucking remember. If Swordsman was stealing money, whatever. But Trick Shot had mum by the throat and dad did the only good thing he ever did for her by punching him in the face."

Barney put his beer down and folded his arms over his chest. "What's the point?"

"Point is, if you're caught up with Trick Shot it's bad news," Clint answered. "I don't wanna know."

"Mum was in on it," Barney said. "Don't you see? If something happened with Trick Shot back then, do you think she'd really do business with him?"

"I think she didn't have a choice," Clint spat. "Or she was too drunk."

"It doesn't matter now," Barney shrugged.

Clint felt his frustration quickly turn to anger. It wasn't even that Barney wasn't listening to him; it was the way that he didn't think their mother's pain mattered. Clint knew that there was no way Edith would willingly go back to the life she had left behind. She had been happy for years with their house and her quiet life. Clint didn't know what had changed, but he couldn't believe that she would change _that_ much.

"Whatever," Clint muttered, and tried to push past his brother.

Barney held his arm out, blocking Clint's way. They stood in tense silence for a minute, Barney glowering and Clint trying his best to hold his own. It was the first time they had fought since their parents had died. It was the first real fight they had probably ever had.

"This isn't an offer I think you should refuse," Barney said eventually.

"I'm not doing whatever the hell you're doing with Trick Shot," Clint said. "I don't wanna know."

"Well, you gotta do something," Barney said, voice low. "If we wanna stay together, we both gotta pull our weight."

"I don't care if dad was friendly with Trick Shot again," Clint hissed. "I don't want anything to do with him."

Barney lowered his arm and stepped aside so Clint could get through. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his body was tense, expecting an attack. He brushed past his brother and made his way straight down the hallway towards his room, slamming the door behind him.

His hands were shaking. He knew Barney had been getting into some bad stuff, but he hadn't realised it had been _that_ bad. Clint hadn't wanted to end things badly with Barney, and a part of him hadn't wanted to leave his last living family so soon after losing his parents. But he knew he couldn't stay, or things would only get worse.

Clint grabbed his school backpack and dumped the books on the ground. He went into his wardrobe and pulled out the last of his important stuff that hadn't already been taken over to Natasha's old house: her Harry Potter books, his old bow from when he was a kid, and Yulia. He smoothed the hair down on the doll, remembering all the times Natasha had curled up with it beside him. He placed it next to the bow. Despite everything that had happened with Trick Shot, Clint was still grateful the man had taught him at least one good thing.

He went out the window, not wanting to see Barney again so soon after their argument. It was already much cooler than it had been an hour ago, and Clint knew it wouldn't be long before it was snowing again. Natasha would catch the flakes on her tongue, childlike despite everything she had been through. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He just wanted to tell someone what was happening.

He dumped the backpack with his other things, in the bathroom cabinet. He thought about trying to decipher more of Ivan's paperwork but was too upset to concentrate.

He grabbed a can of beans out of the cupboard and sat down at the table, forcing himself to stop thinking.

Everything was too much. He just needed to shut down for a while.

L

When Clint went home again, it was almost midnight. He didn't know how long he had sat at Natasha's kitchen table, but when he had snapped out of whatever trance he had been in it had been pitch black outside and cold. He hadn't even finished the can of beans, so just threw the rest in the bin on his way out.

The front door to Clint's house was wide open. His fingers itched for his bow as he crept up the porch steps. He peered inside, eyes scanning the dimly lit room for any sign of life. The front of the house seemed to be empty, so he hesitantly went further in, flicking the hall light on as he did so.

His bedroom door was flung open too. Clint rushed in, feeling adrenaline pulse through his veins as he stood in the doorway, inspecting the mess. His mattress was thrown off the bed, the wardrobe doors almost ripped off the hinges and his clothes strewn everywhere.

The lamp was broken, and the bedside tables flipped over. Someone had been looking for something, and as Clint went to pick up the pillow that he always imagined belonged to Natasha, he realised with a sense of dread that they had found it.

He had kept a little money in her pillowcase, now that she wasn't around to use it. He hated sleeping on her side of the bed, even though the whole bed was technically his. He had put the money there in case something like this had ever happened; in case Barney tried to take more than the small amounts he had already been stealing. It was better for them to think that was all he had, and not know about what he kept at Natasha's.

This didn't look like the work of just Barney, though. His brother would have taken the money without making a mess, but Clint could guarantee that Trick Shot would want to make a statement. Clint had refused to work for him, so he would pay for it. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as an uneasy feeling crept over his body.

He glanced over his shoulder but no one was there. He had a feeling the uneasiness wouldn't pass, not until he was long gone from Iowa. It was like someone was watching him.

He put the pillowcase down and left his room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't know if he could leave the house as it was, but everything was under Barney's name now so he could deal with the real estate if he was still around.

The door to his parent's room was open, too. Clint didn't want to go in there and see the same mess, because Trick Shot wouldn't leave anything unturned. He didn't know what kind of valuables his parents had kept around the house but they would be long gone by now.

"Shit," Clint mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair. It wasn't what he wanted, not so soon, but he knew it was time to leave.

He didn't know what to do except go to Natasha's house and hope no one found him there. He wanted to talk to Barney again. He almost reached into his pocket to pull out his phone and send his brother a text. Maybe it was too soon.

He couldn't help but feel betrayed, and it stung. Ever since Natasha had left his life had fallen apart, and he didn't know if he could fix it this time. He was well and truly on his own, something he had often dreamed about as a child. It hurt a lot more than he had thought it would.

Fighting down his panic, he left the house without a backwards glance. Everything he needed he could carry; he just had to figure out where to go next.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

hey guys! i'm flying back to australia tonight so we should be returning to our regular schedule pretty soon!!this chapter does contain a small noncon scene (not graphic whatsoever!!) but please don't read if you can't! thank you for all of your support like always :) hope you enjoy x

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**November**

It snowed on Natasha's birthday. Clint watched the flakes fall steadily from the kitchen window of her old house, nursing a cup of terrible instant coffee. There was already a thick layer of the white stuff on the ground outside from overnight. The house was cold, though not the worst cold Clint had ever experienced.

He had watched the snow last night, too, feeling anger simmer beneath his skin. Natasha would be sixteen, the same age as him again. She hated being younger than him. He had bought her a present even though he knew he wouldn't see her, and he carried it with him everywhere, almost too afraid to leave it in the house.

The chain and arrow pendent were thin and lightweight, yet the necklace seemed as heavy as a rock in his pocket. He didn't even know if Natasha liked wearing jewellery, but when he had seen it he hadn't been able to leave it behind. He had even paid for it, using some of his emergency cash instead of just stealing it. He would likely never be able to give it to her. He tried not to think about it.

Clint sighed and swallowed the last of his coffee, wincing at the bitterness. He left the mug in the sink and stood surveying the kitchen, wondering what he could possible do for the day. It had been a month since Barney had left, even though he still regularly visited their old house. Clint had seen him a couple of times, when he had been staying at the house himself.

They never spoke. Barney always looked like he wanted to say something, but Clint never gave him a chance. He didn't trust his brother anymore, as much as he wanted to. It was easier to be on his own; Laura was the only one who tried to keep in touch with him, and he usually sent a response every now and then just so she wouldn't think he was dead.

He had been going back to his old house to rummage through whatever had been left behind. Trick Shot hadn't left much, though Clint had found one of his mum's old cameras and a bunch of undeveloped film. He had taken it back to Natasha's on the off chance he might one day get it developed; he could vaguely remember her pointing the camera at him and Natasha as children, but didn't know if he had just made it up.

A lease sign had gone up in the front yard of his old house, as well as in the yard of Natasha's house. It would only be a matter of time before both houses were either rented or destroyed, and Clint knew he had to move on. He was planning it for the end of November, though his biggest obstacle would be finding a car to get him as far away as possible.

He ran his hand over his face, fingers scratching over stubble he had been too lazy to shave. He decided to go into town for a quick grocery run and to check out the car yard again. He didn't really have enough to _buy_ a car, but was pretty positive he would be able to break in and steal a set of keys if he knew where they were kept.

Pushing all thoughts of Natasha and her birthday out of his mind, he headed to the lounge where he had set up a temporary bedroom for himself. It wasn't great, but it was a roof over his head and a little warmth from the freezing temperatures outside. He only had to deal with it for a little bit longer, and then he would be out of Iowa for good.

But first, finding a car. How hard could it be?

* * *

The following week, Clint hauled the last of his belongings into the hut in the clearing. He had almost been caught out by a real estate agent the day before, and couldn't risk leaving his stuff laying around anymore. It was still snowing, but he had spent a good deal of his free time finishing off the hut; now, it stood with a roof and all four walls, as well as proper flooring that actually kept him dry and warm overnight. He had even left a little space open in the wall at the back, in case he had to make a quick getaway without being seen. It wasn't perfect, but Clint was proud of his handiwork.

He felt pretty low about having to sleep in a hut, especially the very same hut that he knew Natasha had been hurt in before. It was only temporary, anyway. He had a plan now, and even though it was a bit sooner than he had expected, he could adapt.

Clint sat on his pile of blankets and let his head thud against the wall, closing his eyes. He felt hot tears prick behind his eyelids and rubbed his fingers against them, hard enough to see stars. He had never expected to be on his own at sixteen, essentially homeless and orphaned. He was resilient, but there was only so much he could take before he felt like he had reached breaking point.

His phone beeped beside him. He glanced at the screen but didn't bother unlocking it to see what the tone signified. It would only be a text from Laura, or maybe his battery was going dead. That was the worst thing about not having a real house anymore: no power. He supposed that Ivan had paid for things in advance, like his parents had, so even if the real estate weren't looking to move someone new in, Clint would have had to leave anyway.

He had taken the handcuffs off Natasha's bed, if only to protect her privacy. Clint didn't know what the real estate agent would have thought seeing them on the bed, but he didn't want to give them the opportunity to pry. They could have the furniture. Everything else, Clint had packed up and taken with him.

He fought down the sadness that seemed to crash over him out of nowhere and pushed himself upright. He grabbed his bow and quiver, then shoved a beanie down over his ears. It wouldn't hurt to have a little practise while the snow had tapered off. Besides, he had nothing else to do but wallow.

He pushed the door open and froze, seconds from stepping onto the ground. He squinted, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Maybe he was dehydrated, or hungry. It didn't make sense.

A black car was parked at the beginning of the clearing, off the side of the gravel road. It was a little way away, and Clint quickly stepped back into the hut and shut the door, heart pounding.

The black car itself wasn't unusual; he had seen plenty of black cars around before. It was the fact that the windows were the same shade as the actual car, that he had only seen a car with tinted glass _that_ dark parked in front of the school, waiting to pick up a little girl with red hair.

Clint rested his forehead against the door, breathing deeply. It was impossible. It had to be impossible. Maybe it was the new owners of the house, lost or simply curious. He dropped to his knees and crawled over to the little window, poking his head up just enough to look out.

He watched, holding his breath, as a man stepped out of the car and dropped a cigarette to the ground. If the bald head wasn't a dead giveaway, the mass of tattoos Clint could just make out across his hands was. Ivan stretched his arms out in front of him, then pushed his sunglasses onto his head and rubbed his hands together.

Clint's fingers itched with the urge to run from the hut and tackle the man. He could barely breathe looking at him, the man who had so casually ruined his life without even knowing it. He pushed aside the blanket covering the window just slightly, trying to get a better look as his brain finally started to calm down.

Why would Ivan be back in Iowa? Clint could think of a hundred different reasons, and none of them were good. Maybe he was back with another girl, wanting to use her the same way he had abused Natasha. Or maybe he had finally returned to collect the rest of the documents he had left behind, which Clint had packed away in his backpack. He couldn't get his hopes up.

A second later, though, the back door opened, and Clint felt his world crash around his feet.

Natasha stepped out of the car, looking no different than the day she had left except for the straight bangs that cut across her forehead. Her fiery hair was pinned back, but still fell down her back in waves. She looked good, which shocked Clint's heart into restarting.

She was alive. She was alive and _here_, standing across from him without even knowing how close he was. Clint fought the urge to burst out of the hut and run to her, feeling in his gut that despite how everything looked, something was wrong.

Natasha followed Ivan further into the clearing. For a split second Clint thought they were going to come into the hut, until they stopped just before it. He let the blanket fall back across the window and moved over to the other side of the door. There was a space in the wall where the wood didn't quite meet, so he could peer out and still see them.

He couldn't see Natasha's face, but he was looking directly at Ivan. Clint watched the man's lips closely, holding his breath. They were just too far away for him to be able to hear them clearly. His brain was going crazy, heart pounding out of his chest. He didn't know if he would be able to listen anyway.

"You remember this place," Ivan said.

Clint didn't need to see Natasha's face to know that she would be frowning, a small crinkle between her eyebrows. It was her tell, the one that he knew the best. Natasha was sure of most things, and even when she wasn't, she could pretend well enough to fill anyone.

"You lived here," Ivan continued. "I raised you. Do you remember?"

Natasha looked behind her, at the hut, and Clint let out a whoosh of breath. Her eyes were bright and green, but her face was blank. It wasn't the expression he wanted to see. He held still, praying she wouldn't make him out.

"I don't know," he saw her say before she turned away from him again.

He wanted to know if her voice was the same, if her accent was still thick and unsteady around English words or if they had taken that from her again. Clint still didn't even know why she was here, or what Ivan could possible be planning. The relief of seeing her alive made him dizzy.

"I know you do," Ivan said. "The wipes haven't been working. I knew that letting you near that boy would cause… issues."

"Clint," Natasha said, loud enough for him to hear it. He wanted to answer her. He wanted to desperately run to her and take her far away from everything, like he had promised.

"If I had realised the consequences of allowing you one friend, I would have never let it happen," Ivan continued. "He is preventing you from reaching your full potential, Natalia. You are going to have to kill him."

Clint dropped to his knees, trying to draw a full breath. He clutched at his bow, holding it to his chest and running his thumb over the Black Widow symbol. Natasha's memory wipes obviously hadn't worked, and Ivan believed it was because of him. How long had the man known about their friendship?

It was clear why they were back, though. The only way for Natasha to reach the full status of Black Widow was to have her compliant and mouldable, and that couldn't happen if she was somehow holding onto memories of him. Ivan wanted him out of the picture, once and for all.

He wouldn't stand a chance against Natasha. Thinking quickly, he scrambled out the little back entrance and into the snow. He melted back into the trees, considering just turning tail and running as far as he could. It would be easier to leave now.

Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he couldn't leave Natasha behind, not when she was so close. Maybe if he put an arrow through Ivan's leg, it would buy them both enough time to slip away. If Natasha wanted to go with him, that was.

He groaned and crept through the tree line, circling around so he could see them again. He crouched in the snow behind a tree, and from his new position he could see both of them side on. He didn't know how much conversation he had missed, but Natasha had her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her head bowed.

"You will kill the boy," Ivan said, and now that he was just a little closer Clint could make out the words. "It's for the good of Mother Russia, Natalia."

"Everything is for good of Mother Russia," Natasha said.

Ivan pulled back and slapped her. Natasha's head twisted to the side from the impact, and Clint hadn't even realised he had readied his bow with an arrow until he caught sight of his shaking hands. He drew in a deep breath, keeping the arrow trained on Ivan as he waited to see what would happen next.

"You do not speak out of turn," Ivan snapped. Then, he reached out and gently cupped Natasha's cheek, turning her face to look at him. "You are the sharp end of the spear, Natalia. Do you understand?"

Natasha nodded, unable to meet Ivan's gaze. He moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze.

"Your mission?" He asked.

"To eliminate the distraction" Natasha answered, almost robotically.

"Good girl," Ivan said. "And then you will be free."

Natasha looked like she might say something else, but seemingly decided against it at the last minute, nodding instead. Ivan placed his other hand on the opposite shoulder, holding her before him. It would almost look fatherly if Clint didn't know any better.

"You're always a good girl," Ivan said. "_My_ good girl."

Clint watched through a haze of red as Ivan pushed Natasha down onto her knees in the snow. For a second he was confused, and then horrified as he watched Natasha's hands reach up for the zipper on Ivan's pants. They were shaking, and Clint had to swallow the bile that suddenly rose in his throat.

Clint knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath, felt his heart rate slow as he lined up his shot. He didn't think about Natasha, or what would happen next. He just stared down the tip of his arrow at his target. It was about time he kept true to his promise and got his best friend away from danger.

Clint breathed in, and let the arrow fly.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

hey guys, sorry for the late update but im finally back in australia! this chapter has a couple of mentions of a corpse, plus some general death things, so avoid if you need! thank you so much for the reviews and love, i hope you enjoy having our girl back!  
thank you! hope you enjoy x

* * *

Clint ran.

He barely noticed as Ivan fell first to his knees, and then flat on his face in the snow. He didn't pay attention to the pool of red that began to darken the white expanse in front of him. He couldn't think of anything else other than getting to Natasha, who hadn't moved an inch since his arrow had pierced through Ivan's neck.

Clint didn't know if there was anyone else in the car, or if Ivan had brought her back on his own. He didn't even know if Natasha _knew _who he was. He was potentially running into even more danger, but none of it mattered. He had to get to her, even if it was the last thing he did.

He was almost at her side when the shot rang out. The echo carried through the clearing and Clint dropped to his hands and knees, heart pounding and adrenaline pumping. He checked the front of his body for a bullet wound, sure that Natasha had shot him. There was no blood, no hole in his front; he looked up, following the direction that Natasha had the gun trained.

There was a man on the ground beside the car, the passenger door still open. Clint watched him for half a second, barely sparing him any time. He was clearly dead, unmoving in the snow. The gun must have been Ivan's. Clint hadn't even noticed he had been carrying it.

He scrambled the rest of the way to Natasha. Ivan was still moving, just slightly, but it was enough to make bile rise in Clint's throat when he was close enough to notice it. He turned away and vomited, his eyes burning as he dug his fingers into the snow and tried to regain some control of his body. Everything was moving too fast, and he felt dizzy from the short run across the clearing.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and was about to turn back to Natasha when he felt her slam into him from behind, sending him face first into the snow and narrowly missing the pool of vomit. She pushed him hard between the shoulder blades, her knee pressed into his lower back. He couldn't breathe around the snow, and fought to calm himself down.

"Who are you?" he heard her growl over the pounding in his ears.

Clint couldn't answer verbally, so moved his hands to finger spell his name. If Natasha was asking who he was, then maybe she really didn't remember him. She might not even remember ASL. But then why had she shot the other man?

When she didn't immediately let him go, he bucked up, trying to dislodge her. She flipped him over and rubbed the snow from his face roughly, squinting at him. She was alive, and Clint felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

"Hey Tasha," he said carefully, reaching out to rub his thumb across the crinkle between her eyebrows.

She flung herself off of him before his fingers made contact, crawling away on shaky arms. Clint frowned and sat up, watching her go. She was panting, her face screwed up now like she was in pain. She tucked her hands up under her armpits and sat on the heels of her feet when she was just out of reach from him.

"Clint?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Hey," he said again, grinning. "It's good to see you."

Natasha didn't meet his gaze. "You shot him."

"Yea, well, he was making you…" he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I don't understand," Natasha said.

Clint tried to shuffle towards her again, but she shuddered at the movement, face pale. He was shocked to see sweat beading at her hairline, and wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms until she was okay again.

"They try to take," she muttered, each word sounding like it caused her physical pain. "Take you. Is not working. They use to hurt me… to make me afraid of you."

"Oh," Clint said, feeling his heart ache at the admission. He almost wanted to go back over to Ivan and shoot him again, but he restrained himself. "Like, to make the memories not as strong?"

"It make me sick," she gasped. "I feel sick when I think…"

"Oh," Clint said again, at a loss for real words. He didn't know what he preferred, Natasha forgetting him or not being able to stand the thought of him.

She peeked at him, and he could see her clenching and unclenching her jaw. He stayed still, not really sure if he was even dealing with the Natasha he knew or if she was waiting for him to let his guard down before striking. He didn't want to think that this was all an act and that the brainwashing had actually worked. Surely if it had she wouldn't have let him shoot Ivan.

He held his breath as she reached out one finger, carefully, and prodded him in the arm. She recoiled almost instantly, her breathing laboured, and shook her head. Then she pushed herself to her feet and wiped her hands down her jeans, not looking at him.

"We need to hide bodies," she said.

Clint blinked at her, whiplashed from the quick turn around of emotions. "Where?"

Natasha shrugged and surveyed the area, her face blank again. Her gaze lingered on the hut and Clint knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.

"I'm living there," he blurted, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as she looked down at him. He stood up too, putting an extra step of distance between them in an attempt to ease her discomfort. "My mum… my parents died. After you left."

He knew that the Natasha from a few months ago would have held him and told him it would be okay, even if she didn't believe it herself. Things had changed, though. Natasha didn't say anything, but she did meet his gaze, briefly, for the first time. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"We put behind hut," Natasha ordered. "We leave tomorrow."

Clint nodded, not sure they had another option. He turned back to Ivan, who seemed to be dead now, and swallowed thickly. His stomach clenched at the sight as he drew in a deep breath of crisp air through his nose. He had killed someone. He hadn't even thought it through at the time, but now a confusing range of emotions were coursing through him.

Natasha seemed nonplussed by the body as she stood by his head. If it hadn't been for the slight shake in her hands, Clint would believe that Ivan's death hadn't affected her at all. He cleared his throat and waited by Ivan's feet, desperately wanting to offer to trade positions with Natasha but also not wanting to look at the man's face.

"We lift," Natasha said, reaching down to hoist Ivan up by under his arms.

"On three," Clint agreed. He took a deep breath and grabbed onto Ivan's ankles, readying himself. "One, two, three!"

They made it a few feet before they had to stop for a break. Clint bent over to catch his breath, watching warily as Natasha scanned the tree line around them. Her whole body was tense, like she might bolt and leave him at any moment. It reminded him of the first time he had met her, when she was nine and the worst thing she had done was steal a cookie.

"How much do you remember about me?" Clint heard himself asking.

"More than they like," she answered vaguely, once again refusing to look at him. Her bangs hung straight just under her eyebrows, and she looked so young that for a second Clint was reminded that they _were _just teenagers.

"How much, though?" Clint pushed. "What does any of this mean?"

"We are friends," Natasha answered, and Clint couldn't help but feel disappointed at her words.

They had only been dating for a couple of months before Natasha had left, and whilst Clint didn't understand how exactly her memory was altered, he had assumed that recent memories would probably be the easiest to remove. He didn't want to push her too much, not when they were already on thin ice.

"Best friends," Clint confirmed, and smiled in case she happened to see it. "I'm glad you're back, Tasha. I didn't think I would see you again."

Natasha regarded him, her eyes calculating. Then she bent down and lifted her half of the body, silently inviting him to do the same. He huffed and grabbed the ankles again, and they began to make their slow way towards the hut again.

* * *

It took them a couple of hours to move both bodies and try to cover up the evidence, even though Clint had reassured Natasha that no one would come down the road, let alone visit the clearing. She was unconvinced, but had eventually agreed to leave the car parked where it was until they could use it in the morning.

They sat in the hut, Natasha curled into the corner furthest away from Clint. He rolled a can of beans towards her and watched it hit her foot. She reached down carefully to inspect it.

"It's just beans" Clint said, feeling self-conscious. "I don't have anything to heat it with."

Natasha shrugged and fished a knife out of her boot, using the blade to slice around the lid. It was a little tense, but Clint blamed it on the fact that he had been used against Natasha in a negative way and she was still adjusting to being in his presence.

He wanted to ask her how she had been hurt. It was clear that she wasn't ready for that conversation yet, let alone most of the conversations he wanted to have with her. He hated not knowing exactly where he stood anymore. He just wanted to hug her.

"You shot him," she repeated from earlier, her voice raspier than usual.

"I know," Clint said. "He was hurting you."

"I don't understand," she said. She used two fingers to scoop out some of the beans and ate them quickly before speaking again. "They tell me to kill you."

"Please don't," Clint laughed nervously. "I kinda don't wanna die right now."

Natasha paused, then glanced at him again. "I don't want to."

"Good," Clint said. "That's something, right?"

Natasha chewed her beans and stared at the wall. Clint sighed and pried open his own can of mini hotdogs. It wasn't the most appetising meal he had ever eaten, but it was all he had left.

They ate the rest of their meals in silence, listening to the snow and wind outside the hut. Clint was trying to ignore his growing sense of anxiety over the fact that he had murdered someone. The hut was cold, and even though she hadn't said anything, he could tell Natasha was cold by the way she was sitting.

"Here," he said, startlingly them both. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his hoodie, the one Natasha had gone back for all those months ago. Without thinking he tossed it at her and she caught it in mid-air, bunching the fabric in her hands.

"I forgot…" Natasha started to say.

"I found it in your room," Clint explained, silently cursing himself for giving that specific hoodie to her. " It's mine."

"I want to bring with me," Natasha murmured. "We were going."

"Yea," Clint said softly. "But things changed."

Natasha pulled the hoodie over her head and then sat her half-finished can aside. "I don't remember it all."

"That's okay," Clint assured her. "I've helped you remember before. I can do it again."

"I can't look at you," Natasha snapped. It was the first real emotion Clint had seen on her all afternoon, and even though it was said in anger, he was secretly glad that she still _had _emotions. "How you fix?"

Clint shrugged. "Maybe I just gotta show you that the real me would never hurt you."

Natasha fell silent again. Clint tried not to think of the two bodies hidden just outside the hut. Natasha had tried to wash her hands but there was still a little dried blood on her fingers from where she had grabbed Ivan. Clint hadn't even been able to get his arrow back. The thought alone made him want to vomit again.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked, mainly to distract himself. "We just gonna drive away tomorrow and see where we end up?"

"We burn bodies and drive to storage. We take nothing." Natasha spoke carefully, but it was clear that she had been thinking about it. "I have something to pick up. Then, we drive. I tell you more tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Clint said.

"Good," Natasha repeated, as though she were testing the word. "You just listen to what I say?"

"Most of the time your ideas are better than mine," Clint answered. "Plus, I've spent the last couple of months thinking you might be dead, or that you forgot me. So right now this is best case scenario."

Natasha didn't say anything, and Clint once again had to fight the urge to reach across and just touch her. He waned to hold her hand, wrap her up in his arms and press soft kisses to her hair. He wanted to tell her how much he still loved her. He was certain now that those words would send her running.

"I've really missed you, Nat," he added after a moment. "I'm so happy you're here. I can't even describe it."

For a split second, it looked like Natasha might move closer to him, or reach out to him. Instead, she looked pointedly at the backpack that still sat by his side.

"Do you have handcuffs?" she asked.

"Why?" Clint said as he fished them out. He dangled them off his pointer finger, not ready to give them to her just yet.

"To sleep," she deadpanned. "You have to know."

"I usually hold it for you," he admitted, and watched the way her carefully constructed mask crumbled just a little. "I've done that for years."

Natasha clenched her hands into fists. "You can't touch me. I will hurt you."

"Tasha –"

"I need them," she pleaded. "I sleep, you watch. We take turn. I don't want to hurt you."

Clint didn't tell her that he didn't believe she would hurt him, because he couldn't actually be sure. He tossed the handcuffs towards her and watched as she secured her own right wrist to the iron hoop that still hung from the wall.

"Sleep tight, Tash," Clint told her gently.

Natasha leant her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Clint rubbed his hand over his face and tried to sort through everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. Natasha was back. He had killed Ivan, and Natasha had killed someone else despite not fully trusting him anymore. They were on their own, like they had always wanted.

Things had changed, though. Natasha was different, and Clint didn't know if she would ever be the same girl that he had grown up with. He hadn't seen even a hint of the old Natasha; the only familiar things about her were her face, the sound of her voice and the whole handcuff situation.

There was still a spark of hope inside of him, though. Hope that they would get through the next few days. Hope that they would be free soon. Hope that they would just be okay, despite what came next.

* * *

Clint almost didn't realise that Natasha was having a nightmare until she woke with a sharp gasp.

He watched her warily in the darkness, waiting to see if she understood where she was. Her wrist yanked on the handcuffs and it seemed to calm her a little. She kept her eyes trained on the ground when she spoke.

"Clint?"

He shifted a little, giving her some warning before he spoke in case the sound startled her. "Yea, Tash?"

"Is real?" she asked carefully, voice shaking.

"Yea, it's real," Clint told her, feeling sadness wash over him at her tone of voice. "I'm here."

"Okay," she said.

It was the calmest Clint had ever seen her after a nightmare. He was used to her waking up screaming, or at least thrashing wildly around as she tried to escape whatever was happening in her head. But she had barely moved upon waking except for one sharp jerk, and Clint couldn't help but wonder if it was something she had been taught to control.

Clint gathered his blanket up again from where it had pooled around his waist. His eyes ached from exhaustion, and he was pretty sure that he was supposed to have woken Natasha up a couple of hours ago. He just hadn't been able to figure out how to do it without scaring her.

"Clint?" he heard her voice again, not shaking now but sounding uncertain.

"Hmm?" he hummed. She still wasn't looking at him. He missed the bright green of her eyes.

"What was I to you?" she asked.

Clint smiled to himself and ran his hand through his hair. "This is gonna sound so lame but… everything."

"We were best friends," Natasha said, sounding confused.

"Still are," Clint said. He didn't elaborate, feeling like he had already overstepped the boundaries he had set himself. He didn't want to confuse her anymore than she already was.

"What you were to me?" she murmured, almost too soft for Clint to hear.

He thought of all the times they had walked to school, how hard he would try to make her laugh in the beginning. He could imagine so clearly the day they had fought in the snow, the very first time he had helped her remember who she really was. He thought about sparring with her, teaching her to drive down the gravel road, holding her hand when she fell asleep.

He thought about the way she would look at him, her whole face open and honest because she trusted him. The night in the shower, when she had broken down and admitted her feelings. He thought about her gentle touch along his arms when he was upset, the butterfly kisses she would press to his skin and the smile she reserved especially for him.

_You are my strong and my happy_, she had signed to him that day in his room. He didn't think she was ready to hear that.

"I don't know," he said instead, trying to keep his voice light. "You never told me."


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

hey guys sorry for the late update! work has been crazy since i got back :( i would just like to thank you all for your reviews, they make me smile so much! i really appreciate all of your support! i think one more chapter and then we might have another time jump, but for now, enjoy this!  
thank you again! :)

* * *

When Clint woke up, Natasha was gone. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that immediately washed over him. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but Natasha had been on edge all night and a part of him had almost expected her to leave.

Another part of him hadn't expected to wake up at all. He had only been scared of Natasha once in his life, when she had forgotten who he was and almost strangled him to death. However, after her nightmare last night he had felt a little wary falling asleep and letting her keep watch. He had kept his bow close and his hearing aids in, just in case, though he knew it would only offer him a few extra seconds against her.

He stretched his arms out in front of him, then stood and cracked his back. The hut was cold, and the blankets that Natasha had been sleeping on were neatly folded. The handcuffs were missing, though it didn't look like she'd taken anything else with her. Clint's backpack and the duffel bag that held his important belongings were exactly where he had left them.

He pushed aside the feelings of abandonment that were weighing down on him and pushed his way out of the hut, blinking against the stark white of the snow. The first thing that he noticed was that the bodies of Ivan and the mystery man were right in front of the doorway. The second thing he noticed was that the car was gone, and panic flashed white hot through his body as he realised it could have all been a set up. Maybe Natasha had only killed that man so that she could make her escape when Clint least expected it.

"What you are doing?"

The voice startled Clint, and he felt his cheeks burn as he jumped at the sound. He turned around to find Natasha, who was still wearing his hoodie and had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She looked past him, even though her body was angled as though they would be having a conversation.

"Um," Clint said, struggling for a second with his emotions. He couldn't believe that he had even entertained the idea that Natasha would leave. His anxiety slowly began to fade the longer he looked at her. There was a slight discoloration to one of her cheeks, the beginning of a bruise from where Ivan had slapped her.

"We burn everything," Natasha said. "Then we go."

"Okay," Clint said, because it was easier to follow a plan blindly than actually think about what was going on. "Where's the car?"

"I move," Natasha explained. "Off road."

Clint didn't bother reminding her that no one would come down the gravel road. Natasha still seemed to be a little worked up, even if there were no outward physical signs of it. He could tell by the way her eyes moved over the clearing, checking and rechecking all of their possible exits.

"I'll put my stuff in it then," Clint said carefully, and when she made no move to stop him he went back into the hut to gather up his meagre possessions. "How did you sleep?"

She didn't answer him immediately, and when he came back out she was staring at the ground, her brow slightly crumpled.

"How did you sleep?" he repeated, in case she hadn't heard.

"I have nightmare," she said, her gaze flickering up to rest on the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder. "You know. You are there."

"Yea, that sucks," Clint said. He didn't know exactly which way the car was, so he waited for Natasha to lead the way. When she didn't immediately move he looked at her more carefully, trying to get a read on her. "Did you sleep well the rest of the night?"

"You are there," Natasha repeated. "Why you ask when you know?"

Clint shrugged, feeling the strap of the duffel bag dig into his shoulder. "I only saw you asleep, but like, I didn't know if it was a good or bad sleep. I guess when you care about someone, a good or bad sleep makes a difference."

Even though she wouldn't meet his gaze, Natasha seemed confused by the notion. Clint frowned, wondering if she had ever truly realised just how much he loved her. It was sad to think that such normal, everyday conversations were so foreign to her. It was worse than it had ever been, and she had only been gone for a few months.

Clint cleared his throat and Natasha refocused on his duffel bag, wordlessly holding her hand out to take it from him. He passed her the backpack instead and followed her through the snow to the cluster of trees where she had hidden the car. She opened the back door without an ounce of hesitation, but Clint felt his skin prickle in discomfort as he took in the tinted windows.

It wasn't like he had ever been in that particular car, but it looked almost identical to the one that Ivan had picked him and Natasha up in years ago. Clint had watched her be driven away in that car far too many times, knowing that she was going somewhere she would be hurt and being powerless to do anything about it.

He placed the duffel bag on the back seat and whistled at the array of weapons he caught sight of in the trunk. There were plenty of guns, and Clint vaguely wondered how exactly they were supposed to get in and out of town undetected.

"For emergency" Natasha said. "Like your bow."

Clint laughed and shut the car door. "Yea, I guess you were right. It came in handy."

"Was good shot," Natasha commented as they made their way back to the hut. "Clean."

"I killed a guy," Clint grimaced. "A bad guy, but still. Thought the only thing I'd ever do is _beat up_ bad guys."

"Sometimes arrow through neck is more effective," Natasha mused, and Clint couldn't help but laugh again.

"You're still just as funny, Tash," he smiled. "In your own weird way."

Natasha stopped walking, her hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. For a split second he was worried that he had said the wrong thing. She stared down at Ivan's body but her face remained blank and uncaring.

"Was too easy for him," she murmured eventually. Then, louder, she said, "He was my uncle."

"Not really, though" Clint said softly. "You know that, right?"

Natasha shrugged. "What I know is not always real."

"Tell me then," Clint prodded. "Tell me something. I can help."

"I can't –" Natasha began, then huffed and glanced at him quickly. It was enough to send a shudder down her spine, so violent that Clint could see how it rattled her small frame. "Where I begin?"

"Three things," Clint coaxed, hoping he wouldn't lose her. "Tell me three things, and I'll tell you if it's true or not. Kinda like the game, but we're not getting into that now."

"Only you call me other names. Tasha. Nat," she started, the words slightly stilted. "Ivan is my uncle. _Tri_, I am dancer too."

"True, false, kinda true," Clint told her. "I gave you a bunch of nicknames, but Ivan was never your real uncle, okay? I don't know when or how but he kidnapped you and brought you here."

"I remember a little," Natasha admitted. "I remember cookies."

"Right!" Clint exclaimed, immediately cringing as Natasha flinched at the pitch of his voice. "You stole a cookie from my house. That's how we became friends."

"Right," Natasha echoed, then frowned. "How I am 'kinda' dancer?"

Clint would have found the slang adorable if they weren't in the middle of a very important conversation. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but it seemed like Natasha was beginning to open up again.

"You learnt to dance in Russia, I think," Clint said slowly. "But some of those memories were fake. And then they made you dance here, earlier this year. That was real."

They fell into silence again, but Clint didn't mind. He could tell that Natasha was processing the information he had given her, rolling it around in her mind to see where it fit in to what she already knew. It was a lot to deal with, and she had just been through a traumatic experience the day before, so he gave her all the time she needed.

"True or false," she said, her voice ringing out in the silence of the clearing. "You love me."

Clint felt his heart drop to his feet, his stomach immediately coiling tight with anxiety. He had thought that Natasha had forgotten their relationship, had been so sure of it that he was prepared to forget it too if it helped her in the long run. He tried to think of what he could have said or done to clue her in. Maybe she really _could _remember it.

"That's four things," he whispered. "One too many."

He hated the way her face shut off, and he had to fight every bone in his body not to wrap his arms around her right then and there. He tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing by not telling her the whole truth, yet he couldn't help but feel like he was just another bad guy lying to her.

"We burn bodies," Natasha said, as though she had never asked anything. She pulled her hand out of her hoodie and flicked the lighter she held until the flame remained lit. "And hut. Then we leave."

"Right," Clint said clearing his throat. "Yea. Then we leave."

Together, they gathered enough dry wood to start the fire, and then let it grow until it began to engulf the hut. The smoke burned Clint's eyes and throat, and he couldn't really hear anything over the crackling of the flames. It didn't matter, though, because Natasha hadn't said another word to him.

He didn't stick around after they threw the bodies in. He sat in the car and had a quick nap, and by the time he woke it was late afternoon and his stomach was cramping from hunger. Natasha had apparently put the fire out and removed the remains, because when he went to find her again there was only smouldering logs left behind where the hut had once stood.

She emerged from within the trees, her face covered in grey ash. "Time to go."

"Okay," Clint said, and took an extra moment to look around the clearing after Natasha had left. The area probably didn't have any sentimental meaning to her anymore, but Clint couldn't help but briefly think of everything that had happened to them there.

When he got to the car Natasha was already in the driver's seat. He went to her door and opened it, sighing in exasperation at the sight of her. "You can't drive."

She didn't look at him, but Clint could tell she was annoyed.

"Why?" she snapped, keeping both hands on the wheel. "I know how."

"You don't have a license, Tash," he explained. "If we get pulled over –"

"I am good driver –"

"– They would have to take you in and call your non-existent parents," Clint continued, ignoring her. "Then they would see the guns in the car. So unless you can explain why two teenagers are driving around in a car filled with weapons, I'm driving."

Natasha huffed but slid over to the passenger seat, crossing her arms over her chest in protest. Clint climbed into the drivers seat and double-checked that he actually did have his license in his wallet before he started the car.

"Seatbelt," he reminded Natasha out of habit, but wasn't surprised to see her buckle herself in begrudgingly. Some things never changed, which was only further proven to him when she stretched her legs up to rest on the dash.

_Whatever_, she signed.

Clint smiled to himself as he pulled the car out of the clearing. A lot of things had changed, but he had a feeling that they were going to be okay.

* * *

Clint groaned as the person he thought was Natasha turned out not to be. She had been gone for nearly an hour, and his patience was beginning to run thin. They were pulled up at a storage unit, and Natasha had helped him sort through his things to decide on what was important enough to bring with them.

She had paused as she had come across Yulia and the Harry Potter books. The doll had been in the duffel, and she had only held it for a moment before shoving it back in with his mum's old camera and his action figures. He hadn't said anything to her about it, because for a second she had looked sadder than he had ever seen her.

Natasha had insisted that she put the things in storage on her own, arguing with him the whole ride into town. He didn't know how, but she had somehow acquired her own storage unit under a fake name earlier in the year; how she even remembered it he didn't know, and he also didn't understand how Ivan had never found out about it.

He desperately wanted to honk on the horn to get her to hurry up. His stomach growled loudly for what felt the hundredth time, but he had looked over every inch of the car and only found half a pack of gum.

A figure rounded the corner and Clint could have cried in relief when he realised it was Natasha. She got into the car and handed him a thick manila folder, tucking a new key into her pocket.

Clint opened the folder and tipped the contents onto his lap. There were two passports, a bunch of foreign cash and some hotel confirmation paperwork. He opened one of the passports and was shocked to see his own face staring back at him, though his hair and stubble were a little longer and his eyes were a different colour.

"I had made when I get your bow," Natasha said. "In case of emergency."

"Right," Clint muttered, then scoffed when he noticed the name on the passport. "Dalton Hammond? Really?"

"You think Clinton is better?" Natasha said incredulously.

Clint opened hers next, staring at the tiny picture of Natasha with blue eyes and short blonde hair. Her new name was Audrey Slater, and according to her passport she had recently celebrated her 21st birthday.

"Oh, happy birthday," Clint said, suddenly remembering that it really _had_ just been Natasha's birthday. "Sixteen, huh?"

Natasha snatched the passport out of his hand, then gathered up the rest of the documents he had pulled out and put them back into the folder. "Let's go."

Clint rolled his eyes but did as he was told, pulling out and driving straight across the road to the local diner. Before Natasha could even begin to protest he cut her off, holding the keys out of reach in case she made a move for them.

"We need to eat real food," he told her. "Or I will literally pass out."

Natasha glared at the dash, then launched herself out of the car and slammed the door behind her. Clint could feel the anger radiating off her body as they walked into the diner but simply ignored it. If Natasha wanted to cause a scene, he wasn't going to stop her.

"I'll have a cheeseburger with a side of fries," he told the woman behind the counter. "And a large coffee. Also, a side of onion rings please. And actually, three of those muffin things too."

He glanced back at Natasha but she was glaring out the window. He smiled at the woman and handed her over the cash, then stood to the side while their order was being made. Clint was about to say something to Natasha about her being difficult when the door opened and Laura walked in, followed closely by Rachel.

He made eye contact with Laura and felt his heart rate spike as she waved enthusiastically, dragging Rachel over with her. Clint hadn't seen her since the funeral, and he really didn't know how to explain Natasha being back or why they weren't at school yet.

"Oh my god, Natalia?" Laura cried as she stopped in front of them. "You're back!"

She threw her arms around Natasha, and for a split second Clint imagined Natasha snapping Laura's neck like a twig. She didn't hug her back, but she also didn't react violently, so when Laura pulled away Clint counted it as a small victory.

"We haven't see you for ages, Clint," Laura exclaimed, and hugged him too. "How have you been?"

"Good," Clint said, finding his voice. "You?"

"Yea, you know, just school," Laura said. "I didn't know you were coming back Natalia. Oh my god, this is crazy!"

"Hey Rach," Clint said quietly, ignoring Laura for a moment.

"Hey," she replied, smiling weakly. "Good to see you, Natalia."

"What're you guys doing? We could hang out afterwards, catch up?" Laura suggested.

Clint paused, feeling lost. Natasha hadn't spoken, and was holding herself like she might bolt at any second. He couldn't even imagine what they must look like; their clothes were filthy, and Natasha still had blood under her nails. The bruise on her face had darkened a little over the course of the day and he didn't need to see his own face to know that he would be pale.

"Oh," Laura said when nobody answered. Her gaze lingered on Natasha's bruise, and then she glanced back at Clint. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"We have to," Clint whispered, hoping she would just drop it.

"Are you guys okay?" Rachel said. "There are people who can help…"

"We are fine," Natasha said, her voice husky. "We need to go."

"Right," Clint said. Their order was called and he collected the bags, holding them awkwardly at his side with one hand and passing the coffee to Natasha. "Look, it's…"

"It's okay," Laura said sadly. "You don't have to explain anything. I just… I hope life is good to you."

Clint didn't know how to respond. He wanted to tell them how much their friendship meant to him, especially Laura, who had been the only other kid apart from Natasha who had willingly wanted to be his friend. He gave her a brief hug instead, even wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders as he passed her.

Natasha was already out the door when Laura grabbed onto his wrist, momentarily stopping him. "Is she actually in trouble?"

"It's not as easy as that," Clint said, hoping she would get it. "We'll be okay."

"Well, you still have my number," Laura joked. "Maybe one day we'll meet up in a diner again, and you can tell me all about how things are okay."

"Thanks, Lau," Clint said, then turned and left before she could stop him again.

Natasha was standing by the car, and yanked the door open as soon as Clint had unlocked it. He handed her the bags of food and she immediately dug around for a muffin, pulling it out and sighing in contentment when she took a bite.

"You knew them," Clint said to her. "They were our friends. Do you remember?"

Natasha paused before she took her next bite, and looked out through the windscreen to where Laura and Rachel sat at a table. Her face turned down slightly, and even though Clint already knew the answer to his question, he wanted to see what she would say.

"Sometimes… is easier to pretend," she said eventually, tearing her eyes away from the girls to briefly meet his gaze. "Is less painful."

Clint nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Suddenly he didn't feel like eating anymore. He turned the car on and put it into reverse, not looking back at the diner as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Right," he said, for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Let's go."


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

this chapter mentions blood and features a panic attack so be careful if that's not your thing!

also, there will be a time jump after this chapter too! i hope you enjoy it, please keep reviewing because it truly makes my day! thank you guys! enjoy x

* * *

Clint glanced up as the bathroom door opened and Natasha re-entered the small room, steam billowing out behind her. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to her dramatic change in appearance. She had spent an hour dying her hair blonde in the tiny motel bathroom; Clint already missed her natural fiery colour, but had to admit that she still suited the new look.

"What?" she asked, sitting in the middle of the bed and pulling the pizza box closer to her.

Clint shrugged and rolled onto his back on the floor, staring up at the dirty ceiling. "It looks good."

"But?" Natasha pushed.

Clint rubbed his hand over his eyes and then let his arm flop over his face. They had driven just over five hours to Chicago, where Natasha had unsurprisingly already made a booking for a run down motel. They had arrived at night, and while Natasha had been changing her hair Clint had found a cheap pizza place for dinner.

There was only one bed and an uncomfortable couch, so Clint wasn't expecting to get much rest through the night. He was tired, and felt anxiety prickling along his skin. He was on edge being so far away from home for the first time in his life. Natasha's new look was nice, but it made the fact that this was actually happening all the more real.

"But nothing, Tash," he assured her, pushing himself up so he could collapse on the couch instead. He cast his eyes over her face, and even though her hair wasn't bright and brilliant anymore, she was still the same. "I like it."

Natasha stared at the box and chewed her pizza carefully. The car ride had been tense, with Clint even having to pull over halfway between Iowa and Illinois to let Natasha out for air. She was doing well, all things considered. Being so close to him for an extended period of time had not helped her fragile mental state, but they had arrived in one piece and together.

"How you are coping?" she said eventually, right when Clint felt like he might be able to doze off for an hour or two.

"I slept in a hut," he deadpanned. "This is like, five stars in comparison."

"_Nyet_" Natasha said. "How you are coping with killing Ivan?"

"Oh," Clint frowned, feeling the familiar flash of heat over his skin as his anxiety increased. "Okay, I guess. It's not a big deal."

"Okay," Natasha echoed, drawing out the syllables and rolling her eyes. "Was first time. Is _not_ going to be okay."

"Well, it is," Clint huffed, annoyed. "You killed someone too and you don't see me making a big deal out of it."

"Is not my first time," Natasha responded evenly.

Even though he had known that Natasha must have been forced to kill as part of her training, the admission still shocked him. They had never spoken about it, and a small part of Clint had never really wanted to know. It didn't change his feelings towards Natasha, but it did make him feel sad that she was actually _used _to it.

"I don't…" he began, then blew out a breath of air. He suddenly couldn't make sense of the thoughts swirling around in his head. "I didn't think it would ever happen."

Now that they were talking about it, he couldn't stop imagining the way he had felt when he released the arrow, how easy it had been to do. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time, so consumed with rage as he was, but seeing Ivan afterwards had made him question his actions.

Clint didn't realise he was panicking until he had to force himself to take a breath in. His vision swam, and he bent over to rest his head on the arm of the couch as his stomach rolled. All he could see was Ivan's lifeless body, the snow around him darkening as the blood flowed from the wound in his neck.

"He was bad," Clint panted, trying to regain some control over his mind. "He was hurting… gonna hurt you. _Had _hurt you before. I didn't think."

He desperately wanted Natasha's hand on his back, reassuring him that he would be okay, but she stayed on the bed and just watched him. He shuddered and gripped onto the bottom of his shirt, trying to ground himself.

"You do what you have to," Natasha said carefully.

"I thought I could deal with it," Clint admitted. He took another deep, shuddering breath, willing his heart to stop racing. "It just makes me feel sick."

"Was you or him," Natasha said firmly. "You make right choice."

"Right," Clint muttered. He focused on the pattern in the couch until he felt steady enough to move again. He pushed himself back into a seated position and yawned, suddenly even more exhausted than he had been earlier. "Can we change the subject?"

Natasha shrugged and pushed the pizza box away, instead reaching for the other takeout box that held her hotdog. Clint had ordered extra pickles on the side for her, and watching her face momentarily light up at the sight of them was enough to ease any lingering anxiety. She crunched on a pickle and sat back against the pillows, her eyes focused somewhere near his feet.

"You say it was my birthday," she said carefully, as though she wasn't sure she wanted to continue the conversation.

"Yea, last week," Clint answered. "Sweet sixteen, or whatever."

"What is day?" Natasha continued. "I don't… they take away. I don't know what day."

The more Natasha revealed to him about what had happened to her, the less regret Clint began to feel about his actions. Ivan had been an instrumental part of Natasha's suffering, and even though the thought of what he did made him unwell, Clint couldn't feel bad for the man.

"The 22nd," Clint told her, trying to keep his voice even. "November 22nd. It snowed this year. I got you a present too, actually."

He patted down his pants pockets, hoping the necklace was tucked safely inside and hadn't fallen out. He felt the arrow first, and then reached into the pocket to fish it out by the thin silver chain. He dangled it from his pointer finger, watching Natasha's guarded expression for any signs that she liked it.

"Why?" she asked carefully.

Clint frowned. "Because that's what you do on birthdays?"

He got up and moved over to the bed, placing the necklace on the edge before sitting back on the couch. Natasha moved slowly, wiping her fingers on her shirt before gently lifting the necklace and letting it hang in front of her own face. The arrow spun in a slow circle, and Clint was suddenly worried that showing her had been the wrong decision.

"I get bow for you," she said. "On your birthday."

"Yea," Clint smiled. "One day you'll have to tell me how you had that made."

The look on Natasha's face told him that she didn't remember. He was a little confused about how her memory loss worked this time around; in the past, he had not existed as a friend in her mind after the wipes, and the things she did remember were only practical. This time, though, her memories seemed to be disjointed, like someone had tried scooping them up with a net full of holes and half of them had fallen out.

"Unless it's top secret," Clint tried to joke, but it sounded forced even to him.

Natasha clenched her hand around the necklace, then stared at her closed fist intently. "True or false. You _loved_ me."

He immediately noticed the slight way she had changed the question from that morning. It hurt him to realise that she thought his refusal to answer meant that he didn't love her anymore. He so desperately wanted to admit the truth to her, but couldn't quite decide if it was the right thing to do considering their situation. It was all too confusing. Clint almost wanted things to go back to normal.

"I don't…" Clint started to say, but he didn't know how to finish his sentence.

"Why you lie?" Natasha asked. "You loved me. You had to."

"I wanted to protect you," Clint said softly. It was the only way he could think of explaining it to her, even if it wasn't what he really wanted to say.

"I can take care of me," Natasha hissed, her eyes flashing. "I don't _need _you to do for me."

"I know that," Clint snapped, anger bubbling in his chest. He knew it wasn't her fault, that she wouldn't understand the intricacies of their relationship and how long it had taken them to get to a point of honesty. "But when you care about someone, you want to look out for them. It's just how it works."

"I don't understand," Natasha spat.

"You killed that guy in the car, right?" Clint said, his voice getting louder without him realising. "You shot that guy because why? What was the real reason, Tash?"

"He would kill you in second," Natasha growled. "I don't want you to die."

The realisation of what she had said seemed to hit her squarely in the chest, and she slumped back against the headboard, breathing hard. Clint watched her carefully, ready to jump up and stop her if she tried to run for it. He couldn't lose her now. Not when they were so close to finally being free.

"Tell me truth," she eventually murmured, staring at the opposite wall. "You loved me."

"Yes," Clint said immediately. "How did you know?"

"The wipes not work," Natasha said, then frowned. "_Did not _work. Other times, they take it all. There are holes and you are blur, and is not _you_."

Clint could remember the first time Natasha had forgotten him, and how she had described it back then the same way she did now. He didn't think he would ever understand it, no matter how many times she tried to explain it.

"This time… I forget some," she continued slowly, thinking carefully about what she was saying. "But not enough. I remember you. _All_ of you. Your face and eyes and body. It make them crazy."

Clint swallowed, barely daring to breathe, let alone speak. They were again standing on the precipice of something huge, but this time Clint wasn't so sure he wanted to fling himself off the edge. It wasn't that his feelings towards Natasha had changed at all, but some things _had _changed, and he wasn't as naïve as he once might have been.

"They try again and again but nothing work," Natasha said. She let out a huge breath and Clint noticed her lower lip tremble just slightly, like she was trying not to cry. She carefully unclenched her fist and laid the necklace across her thigh so she could sign instead.

_I couldn't get you out of my head_, she began, her hands steady despite the turmoil she was trying so hard to hide. _I lost the memories, the places, some of the things we did. But I remembered you, every time, no matter what they did to me. I didn't want to do what they said, and it made them mad. So they tried to train me to fear you. They understand fear more than anything. _

"It worked though_,_"Clint said out loud, since her gaze was still trained on the wall. "You can't even look at me."

_The wipes should have worked, though_, Natasha replied. _I shouldn't remember you. And then, when I saw you in the clearing for the first time, before I felt fear I felt… happy. I didn't understand it. _

"What are you saying?" Clint asked, feeling hope stir somewhere deep inside him.

_The Red Room doesn't know love, _Natasha signed, looking down at her hands like she almost wasn't sure she wanted to say it. _They don't know how to remove love because they don't know how it works. And even though I couldn't remember what we did, I realised you had to have loved me, once. That's why it's different from every other time._

"They're not my memories though, Tash," Clint told her softly. "You would have to love me, too."

"I know," Natasha said, her voice trembling. "But love is for children. I don't… how I love when I am bad?"

"You're not bad," Clint said firmly, shuffling forward a little on the couch in a vain attempt to meet her gaze. "You just had bad things happen to you, but you are _not _bad, Natasha."

"You tell me I don't tell you," she said. "How you know?"

"You don't always have to tell someone you love them for it to be real," Clint explained.

"Real," Natasha breathed, then picked up the arrow necklace. She stared at it for a moment before gently unclasping it and moving to put it around her neck, brushing her newly blonde hair to the side as she let it settle against her chest.

"Suits you," Clint said gruffly, blinking against the tears that burned hot behind his eyes.

"I don't remember it all," Natasha said. "I can't… it can't be the same right now. What you know is different for me."

"It's okay," Clint assured her. "I'll tell you about it one day, and we'll work through it together and whatever happens happens. For now I'm just glad you're back. I missed you."

Natasha reached for her hotdog again, signalling the end of the conversation. Clint slumped back against the couch cushions, feeling drained yet simultaneously thrilled. He couldn't believe that Natasha had worked it out; the one thing the Red Room considered to be a person's biggest weakness was ultimately their _own _weakness.

She had told him a lot more than he had expected, but he guessed that it had been playing on her mind ever since she had seen him in the clearing. He probably should have known that he wouldn't be able to hide anything from Natasha, but he had expected her to take a lot longer to figure out his feelings. Maybe he wasn't as subtle as he had thought he was being.

"I need you to do something," Natasha spoke, startling Clint out of the daze he had fallen into. "For me."

"Okay," Clint said cautiously. She was shaking, and clenching her jaw much like she had in the clearing before she had touched him. It made his stomach drop.

"I have tracker in arm," she told him, keeping her gaze level on the now empty hotdog container. Clint hadn't even noticed she had finished eating it. "I need you to take out."

"What," Clint deadpanned, now staring at her arms as though he would be able to see it. "You're joking."

"_Nyet_," Natasha said. "I can't do."

"Tasha, I can't do it either," Clint said. "I can't _cut into _you."

"Well, they will find us then," Natasha snapped. "We die. Happy?"

"You could've told me this earlier," Clint muttered as she got off the bed and moved back into the bathroom. "Could've done it yesterday, before we had this deep ass conversation and my feelings got all messed up."

When Natasha re-emerged she had either not heard him or was choosing to ignore him. She had her knife and the first aid kit, and the realisation of what was about to happen hit Clint like a tonne of bricks.

"How am I even gonna touch you, Nat?" he asked incredulously as she got comfortable on the bed again.

"I deal with it," Natasha shrugged. She opened the first aid kit and pulled out an alcohol swab, running it over the blade of the knife. She tore open another swab and after feeling around the muscle of her right bicep, rubbed it across a patch of skin fluidly. "Ready?"

"No," Clint said, but still moved towards her.

He went slowly, making sure she could see every move as he made it. It didn't make much difference though, because by the time he was sitting beside her she was sweating and breathing heavily. He gently took the knife from her, hating the way she flinched away from him, and then carefully laid his hand across her forearm.

She jolted like she had been shocked, and Clint was horrified to see her blinking away tears. He wanted to tell her it wasn't worth it, that they could risk being tracked if it meant she didn't have to go through this kind of emotional trauma. He didn't say anything, though, breathing deeply through his nose as he moved his hand up to feel the area of skin she had sanitised.

The tracker was just under the skin, and the feeling of it beneath his finger made him squirm. Natasha turned her head away from him, the nails of her free hand digging hard into her thigh. Clint took a deep breath and readied the knife.

"Do you want me to count down?" he asked, trying to buy himself some time.

"_Nyet_," Natasha moaned, and he could hear the pain in her voice. He couldn't even begin to imagine what they had done to her to get her to react this way to him. "Do it."

Clint's hand didn't shake as he made the incision, but his vision did swim briefly when blood erupted from the small wound. He didn't really know what he was supposed to do now. He squeezed a little, forcing himself to ignore Natasha's pained whimper, and watched as the tracker slid out easily amongst the blood.

"Done," he told her. "Let me patch it up."

Natasha held the small device in her hand as Clint pressed gauze to the wound and wrapped a bandage around her bicep. Her blood coated his fingers, and for a second he thought he might be sick again. He pushed off the bed and went into the bathroom to scrub his hands instead.

By the time his hands were clean and he had changed into more comfortable clothes, Natasha had already crept out of the room to deposit the tracker on a nearby car. She was tucked up to her chin in the bed, one hand already awkwardly secured to the headboard by the handcuffs. It meant that her injured arm was now tugged up above her head, and he couldn't imagine the discomfort it would be causing her without any painkillers.

"_Spasibo_," she said to him thickly.

"It's fine," Clint said, even though he wished she had never asked him to do it. Surely they had set her back even further by having him cut into her body. "You want me to keep watch first?"

Natasha nodded, her eyes already slipping shut. "Tomorrow we have flight. Is in afternoon, so lots of time to be ready."

"Where are we going?" Clint said as he made himself comfortable on the couch with the spare pillow and a think blanket.

"Australia," she murmured. "You like sun?"

"I guess I like sun," Clint smiled. He leant over and flicked the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "What's in Australia?"

"Maybe freedom," Natasha sighed. "Maybe nothing."

"Freedom sounds good," Clint said.

"Mmm. Is good."

Clint stared up at the roof, not quite believing that they were finally here. They were so close he could almost touch it, and he couldn't help but picture the life they would live once they stepped out of the motel door in the morning. Finally together, finally okay.

"Hey Tash?" he called into the room.

"What?" she responded, her voice almost too soft for him to hear.

"We're still children, you know," he said. "And I still love you."

He wasn't sure if it was the time to confirm it, but lying in the dark with her in a dingy motel room seemed like as good a place as any. He felt hope bloom in his chest and tried to remember the feeling, locking it away in his mind even though Natasha hadn't said anything yet. It didn't matter, anyway. She knew how he felt, for real this time.

For a minute, it was silent. Clint settled into the pillow and prepared himself for a boring few hours of trying to stay awake. He almost thought Natasha had already fallen asleep when he heard her voice again, as clear as if she were right by his ear.

"Good night, bird brain."

Clint smiled. Yea, they were going to be okay.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

hey guys! this chapter was a little rushed, not gonna lie, but i hope you enjoy nevertheless! please review, they brighten my day! don't worry, there's gonna be more action in the next chapter, i just had to try and cover a year of their lives as quickly as possible!  
thank you SO MUCH! hope you enjoy x

p.s. translations will be at the bottom of the chapter!

* * *

**Belarus, 2006**

**November**

The air was icy and still, the snow shining bright in the light of the moon. Clint rubbed his gloved hands together and stared out across the field, eyes tracking the side of the building for any sign of Natasha. The darkness was foreboding, casting eerie shadows and making the building itself seem far more imposing than it probably was in the daylight.

Clint could only just see his breath fogging out in front of him. It was cold in a way that it never had been in Iowa, and even though they weren't actually in Russia yet, he had to agree with Natasha: the snow _was _worse here.

Not for the first time, he wished that the Red Room had chosen a warmer location to build their academy. They were in a forest a few miles out of Maryina Horka, and after months of careful planning they were finally ready to take down the organisation. At least, that's what Clint was hoping would happen. The more time that Natasha spent out of sight, the more Clint's anxiety grew.

On paper it was easy, and that was why Clint had agreed to it. Natasha wanted to blow the whole place up and put an end to the suffering once and for all. He wasn't going to deny her; they had been on their own for a year now, and in that time he had seen a side of Natasha that he never had before. Not even when they were kids, and Natasha had arguably been at her most vulnerable.

The pain she had suffered was immense, and they were constantly working through new triggers that seemingly cropped up out of nowhere. Ending the Red Room had given Natasha a solid goal to work towards, and now they were finally here, in the middle of a Belarusian forest with only a beat up truck to get them out of the danger zone.

"Damn it, Tash," Clint muttered, picking up his bow from where it rested against a tree trunk. He had expected the forest surrounding the academy to be crawling with guards, but the night was calm and he was pretty sure they were the only two people stupid enough to be outside in this weather.

They had spent the start of the year in Australia, laying low and meeting up with some of the contacts that Natasha still trusted. Brisbane had been nice for the middle of summer, and they had spent most days at the beach swimming. It was so _normal _that Clint had almost forgotten why they were there. They had left on Australia Day, flying back to America with three new fake passports each and an apartment waiting for them in Brooklyn.

The apartment was run down and dirt-cheap as a result. There was rarely hot water, and the furniture was so old that Clint had found a Captain America comic from the 40's behind the couch cushions. Despite it's flaws, he liked living there with Natasha for the simple fact that they were together, even though she still couldn't look him in the eye.

For his 17th birthday they ate Chinese on the roof and before he knew it they were in Italy, chasing down a lead from one of Natasha's new contacts. They hadn't found the Red Room trainer they had been looking for, but they _had_ accidentally stumbled upon a weapons smuggling ring that was operating out of Naples. The guns were being sent to arm child soldiers in Somalia, and that was all Natasha needed to know.

They had shut the majority of the operation down and left Europe mainly unscathed. Clint didn't know exactly when they started taking hits after that, but it was not something he had ever imagined doing. They had rent to pay and food to buy, and their own mission to fund. Normal jobs were out of the question. He wasn't sure Natasha _could _go back to normal now.

He had only felt uncomfortable about it for a little while, and they worked well as a team. Their hits were always against bad people, Clint made sure. The pay was decent and Clint figured they weren't really doing the wrong thing if they were potentially stopping something terrible from happening, but when he thought about it too much it made him sad.

They were still kids. Even though Natasha had nightmares every other night, even though they paid rent and their passports said 21 and Clint knew the best way to remove bloodstains from clothes, they were still just kids. He didn't know a thing about taxes and technically Natasha wasn't allowed to drive. They should be thinking about prom and sneaking out to parties, not planting explosives in the middle of a foreign country.

Natasha still hadn't emerged from the building. A sick sense of fear curled tight in Clint's stomach as he readied his bow. He had given her fifteen minutes to come back, and she was pushing half an hour now. He took a step out of the tree line, ready to run in after her and make sure she was okay.

The explosion ripped through the night, lighting the sky in bright hues of yellow and orange. Clint shielded his eyes and crouched down, wincing as his hearing aids squeaked against the barrage of sound. A second later he stood and started to sprint towards the flames, his heart ready to burst out of his chest. Natasha was supposed to be back. This wasn't the plan.

He saw the figure hurtling towards him a second before they collided. Clint immediately rolled over on top of them, trying to gain the upper hand early on, but they struck out at his face and connected with his throat. Wheezing, he reached for his bow and slammed it against their head, feeling them still beneath him.

He pushed himself away from the person, who he could see now was just a girl. He waited a moment to catch his breath, and then pushed himself up from the snow. He turned back to the flames and was relieved to make out Natasha coming towards him, looking far too nonchalant for someone who had just destroyed half a building.

"Hey," he said to her when she was close enough to hear him. "What took you so long?"

Natasha shrugged, though her eyes looked guarded. "Try to get them out."

"Oh," Clint said. He hadn't really given much thought as to whether there would be any girls currently training. "They didn't want to?"

"_Nyet_," Natasha said. "Was only four. They escape."

"Yea, one of them ran into me," Clint said, gesturing towards the girl lying in the snow. "She probably wanted to kill me but I whacked her with my bow."

"Whacked," Natasha repeated, rolling her eyes. She moved over to observe the girl, and Clint kept his eyes on the building. Surely there had been guards or trainers inside. It couldn't be this easy.

"Yelena," Natasha said, and Clint turned back in time to see her shake the girl.

"Yelena?" he asked, frowning. "As in, _the _Yelena? The one you hate?"

"I don't hate," Natasha scoffed.

"You totally did," Clint told her. He glanced down at the girl, taking in her round face and blonde hair. She was clearly younger than them, and the thought made Clint's stomach roll. "You kinda wanted to kill her."

"Whatever," Natasha said, and shook Yelena a little harder. "Wake up, _mudak_."

Yelena groaned and opened one eye, swatting Natasha away. As soon as she realised who was standing above her she lashed out with all she had, catching Natasha off guard and managing to land a blow to her chest. Natasha doubled over and Yelena was about to strike again when Natasha suddenly caught the younger girl by the hair, yanking her head back until she fell to her knees.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye. Clint knew that Natasha could fight, and had seen her take down men twice her size on several occasions. It was different with Yelena, though, even if it was only subtle. Their fighting style was so similar that it was clear they had been trained by the same people, and it jarred Clint to realise that Natasha wasn't the only girl who had been treated so poorly; even though he had known it, being confronted with it made it all the more terrifying.

"_Izmennik_" Yelena hissed, and spat at Natasha's face.

"You are running too," Natasha snarled, her voice laced with venom. "You are just as much traitor."

"Let me go so I can kill you," Yelena said, struggling against Natasha's hold.

"You are stupid girl," Natasha replied, and to Clint's horror, actually let Yelena go.

"Hey!" he said, stepping between them without thinking. "Nobody is gonna die, okay."

The night fell silent, the flames flickering in the background. Clint felt uneasy still being so close to the building, and their plan had obviously been thrown out the window without him realising it. He just wanted to get back to the truck and drive to Russia so they could catch their flight and be done with it all.

"She won't kill me," Natasha said.

"Who is this boy?" Yelena asked at the same time, squinting at him. There was already a bump blooming on her forehead from where he had struck her.

"I'm Clint," he said awkwardly. "I, uh, shoot people sometimes? With her."

Yelena snorted. "_On vsegda takoy glupyy_?"

"_Ne vsegda_" Clint answered dryly, and Yelena raised her eyebrows.

"Impressive," she said.

"We are trying to shut them down," Natasha interrupted. "But is not right. Where they are?"

"They take the other girls," Yelena said, her eyes darting around them. Clint was relieved to see that he wasn't the only paranoid one in the situation. "Long time ago. I am best so they keep me here to wait for you."

"What about others?" Natasha asked, and Clint could tell that she was just as confused as he was. Was this a trap?

"I found them last week," Yelena said. "They are hungry, I give them food. Then I keep them chained up in case someone come back for me."

"Oh," Natasha said. She reached out and tugged on Clint's arm slightly, the most contact they had managed between them in a whole year.

_I think she should come with us_, Natasha signed when she had his attention.

_You're kidding_, Clint signed, turning his back to Yelena slightly. _No way. We can't trust her. You used to hate her guts._

_Not really_, Natasha admitted. _But it might be nice to give her a chance._

_Nice? _Clint repeated, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. _Tash, we can barely look after ourselves. We don't even know if we'll be able to get out of Russia safely and we haven't even got there yet. We should take her to the police or something, let them decide._

Natasha's eyes moved from watching his hands to staring over his shoulder, and Clint spun around in time to see Yelena sprint off into the forest without a backwards glance. When he looked back at Natasha she was walking in the opposite direction, towards the hidden truck.

"What was that?" Clint asked as he jogged to catch up to her. The fire was still burning strong, and the lack of emergency services was concerning. He didn't know how the fire brigade worked in Belarus, but he figured they would at least respond to a fire.

"Nothing," Natasha assured. "Let's go, okay?"

Clint didn't believe her, but he was tired and sore and just wanted to leave. The lumpy mattress back in Brooklyn had never sounded so appealing. Besides, if there was one thing he had learnt about Natasha over their years of friendship, it was that waiting was worth it.

"Okay," he said. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Four and a half hours later, Clint found himself sprawled across a single bed in a hotel in Smolensk. On the other bed beside his, Natasha brushed her hair out, twisting the locks into a loose braid when she was finished.

Clint's whole body ached, even though he hadn't really done much. Natasha had bruised her ribs after falling from a window, and Clint had helped her wrap them after her shower. He didn't ask how or why she had managed it. With Natasha, anything was possible.

Her hair had almost completely returned to its natural colour, going from bright red at the roots and fading into the dyed blonde at the ends. He thought it looked pretty cute, but knew Natasha was a little frustrated with it.

"I let her go," Natasha said into the silence. "There was nothing for me there."

"I thought it would be worse than that," Clint admitted, rolling onto his stomach so he could see her. "Kinda expected more manpower or something."

"Was supposed to be," Natasha muttered, hand clenching into a fist almost unconsciously. "They knew we are coming."

"And they left Yelena on her own to what? Kill you?"

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe. Probably they want her to go back and tell them was me, for sure."

"She wouldn't go back," Clint said, horrified at the idea that anyone would go back willingly.

"She will," Natasha said simply. "Is okay. We will be gone."

"Right," Clint sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "So we blew up a building for nothing."

"Hmm," Natasha hummed. "For fun?"

"Not for fun," Clint laughed. "That was _stressful_. And cold."

"Told you," Natasha teased. She was wearing his hoodie, the one that she had all but claimed as her own back in Iowa. The arrow necklace hung from her neck, and even though small touches were the extent of what she could handle, Clint wouldn't trade these moments for the world.

"So, what's next?" Clint asked.

"Home and bed," Natasha answered. Her accent was thicker than usual, her voice even rougher from breathing in the smoke. It had taken her nearly an hour to wash the ash and soot from her body.

"What about the Red Room?" he pressed. He didn't really want to bring it up, but knew that Natasha would have to be planning something now that she knew they had moved locations.

"We find them and stop them," she said. "Will take time."

"We've got all the time in the world," Clint drawled. "Oh, hey. I just remembered."

Clint rolled himself off the bed, crawling over to the single backpack he had brought with him on their trip. Inside, he pulled out a velvet bag and tossed it at Natasha, watching her pluck it expertly from the air and then hold it like it might explode.

"Open it," he encouraged when she didn't make any move to. "C'mon, I didn't forget."

Natasha carefully opened the bag, unable to hide the surprise on her face as she reached within and pulled out a pair of pink ballet shoes. She blinked at them, running her pointer finger over the material.

"Happy birthday, Tasha," Clint said softly. "I know it was last week, but we were flying here and then I found them in Minsk so it was like, fate or something."

When she still hadn't said anything, Clint chewed his lip, feeling nervous. "Do you like them?"

"I do," Natasha said. "I… I like a lot."

"Good," Clint said, and climbed back onto the bed. "I know today wasn't great and things didn't work out, but…"

"_Nyet_," Natasha interrupted, curling her arm around the bag like she used to with Yulia. "Is good day."

"Good," Clint repeated, grinning like mad. He had felt pretty bad when he hadn't had a present to give Natasha on her actual birthday, but as soon as he saw the ballet shoes he knew he had to get them for her.

"I take first watch," Natasha eventually said.

"Thank you," Clint groaned, already stretching out under the covers. He was exhausted and still a little confused about everything that had happened, but he figured he could just ask Natasha again tomorrow and hope for a clearer answer.

"Good night," Natasha said, and Clint watched through half closed eyes as she stretched her hand out towards his bed. He met her halfway, squeezing her fingers gently and feeling immensely happy when she didn't flinch away.

"Love you," he murmured sleepily, keeping up his tradition of telling her before bed. She rarely said anything back, but he always kept his eyes open a little longer to watch the small smile spread across her face.

They still had a long way to go, but they had already overcome so much in the last year. Clint wasn't worried about the two of them anymore; he wasn't even really that worried about what would happen next.

One thing was for certain, though. Whatever it was, it was sure to be one hell of a ride.

* * *

On vsegda takoy glupyy? = is he always this stupid?

Ne vsegda = not always


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

hey guys! just a little filler chapter bc it's my birthday tomorrow! and i wanted to give them a lil fun, even if it still gets a bit angsty :) i hope you enjoy! let me know with a review if you feel like it!  
again, thank you for everything! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**Brooklyn, 2006**

**December**

Clint turned to the side just in time to sneeze into his arm instead of all over the back of the woman in front of him. He groaned as the pressure in his head increased and willed the old lady to hurry up. He just wanted to take his soup and go back to bed for a while.

"Do you have a cold?" Mrs Timms called over her shoulder.

"Just a small one," Clint replied, wincing as his throat protested the use of his voice. "It's nothing. I'll be fine in no time."

"Crushed garlic in warm milk," Mrs Timms told him firmly. "That'll fix it."

Clint rolled his eyes and hoisted the woman's bags up higher, stopping them from hitting the stairs as they climbed. He silently cursed Natasha for making him go out to get their dinner; he should have realised that Mrs Timms would be coming home from her weekly shop, and that she would inevitably need helping carrying her groceries to her apartment.

"Tell Emily to make some tonight," Mrs Timms continued, finally reaching her floor. She turned to regard Clint, raising one white eyebrow as he hauled the last of the groceries onto the landing. "The sooner you get on top of it, the better."

"Yes ma'am" Clint replied, though he couldn't imagine Natasha agreeing to make a drink like that. He couldn't even imagine Natasha's cover, Emily, making a drink like that.

"I heard her screaming last night, the poor pet," Mrs Timms said. She reached into her handbag for her keys, hands shaking as she tried to push it into the lock. "How is the dear thing? I haven't seen her around as much."

Clint shrugged, the bags rustling. "She's okay, Mrs Timms. Just nightmares."

"Darling girl… oof, got it!" Mrs Timms swung the door open and gestured for Clint to follow her inside. "I'll make her some cookies, lift her spirits."

"Em would love that," Clint smiled, the name feeling clunky on his tongue even though they had been using it for a year. He sidestepped the woman's dogs, which were trying their best to bite his ankles off, and set the groceries down on the counter. "Anything else I can help you with, Mrs Timms?"

"No, no, Henry, you've done enough," she assured him, pulling him in to place two kisses to his cheeks. "Thank you, dear."

"Anytime, ma'am," Clint told her.

"I'll get on those cookies straight away!" Mrs Timms said, shuffling behind him to the door. "Emily can come for tea anytime she likes, you be sure to tell her."

"Yes ma'am."

"And don't you be out in that cold weather anymore," she continued. "You'll make it worse, you will."

"No ma'am, I'll be sure to stay indoors," Clint told her.

She was still talking as she closed the door, and Clint let out a breath of relief. It wasn't that he didn't like helping the old lady, but he was tired and his body ached from the cold he had managed to catch in Belarus. He needed to curl up in bed and eat his soup and try to sleep off the worst of the sickness.

A second later, Clint realised he had left his own bags on the counter with Mrs Timms'. He groaned and turned around, ready to knock and be dragged back into a new conversation, when the door was flung open and Mrs Timms' frail arm stuck out, the bag dangling from her fingers.

Clint quickly took it from her before she broke something. "Thank you Mrs Timms, you're a lifesaver."

"Have a safe night, Henry," she said to him, and waggled her eyebrows before slamming the door.

Clint walked over to the apartment opposite Mrs Timms, knocking his code into the door before swinging it open. Natasha glanced up from where she was stretching on the floor; with just a crop top and leggings on, the deep blue bruises that wrapped around her ribs and back were visible.

Clint frowned and placed the bag on their counter, pushing aside an empty pizza box to make room. "Maybe we should get that checked out."

"_Nyet_," Natasha said, carefully standing. She held one hand against her side, the only indication she was in any pain. "Is just bruised."

"It's been two weeks," Clint said. Before he could speak again he started to cough, his chest burning with each sharp intake of breath. He stumbled to the sink and tried to fill a glass from the tap, but the water was only just trickling.

"Maybe _you _should check that," Natasha said. She began unpacking the bag, pulling her borscht out and breathing the smell of it in deeply. "_Spasibo_."

"S'all good," Clint wheezed. "Extra sour cream, and garlic rolls in there too."

Natasha moaned and pulled the rest of the food out of the bag. She balanced both soups and the rolls and moved over to the couch, setting up the coffee table with their dinner. Clint watched her as he caught his breath, noticing the way she set his side of the couch up first. It wasn't the first time he had noticed it, but was pretty sure she didn't know she was doing it.

He joined her on the couch after a moment, trying to push himself into the cushions to get comfortable. Natasha snorted a laugh at his attempt, her legs stretched out and resting on the coffee table. She cradled the borscht on her lap, closing her eyes in bliss as she had her first spoonful.

Clint's chicken noodle soup was still steaming when he finally managed to pry the lid off. His stomach rumbled and he shovelled in a few mouthfuls, burning the top of his tongue on the broth. It was too good for him to care much, and he reached for a garlic roll to dunk in while it cooled.

"Mrs Timms said she heard you screaming last night," Clint said casually, watching as Natasha shrugged. "Wanna share?"

"Was just nightmare," Natasha said. "What is new?"

"Maybe they're getting worse," Clint suggested gently. "You seem pretty tired."

"I'm fine," Natasha said evenly.

"Okay," Clint said, letting her have this one. He really wasn't in the mood to argue. "She's gonna make you cookies, too."

"Mrs Timms?" Natasha asked, grinning. "I like chocolate chip."

"Not as good as mums, though," Clint said, trying not to dwell on it.

"Tell me story," Natasha urged, grabbing her own garlic roll.

Clint wracked his brain for a story that he hadn't already told her. It was another new tradition they had made; he told her a moment from their past, and sometimes by the end of it Natasha could remember the moment herself. It was helping jog her memories, and Clint enjoyed watching her react to hearing what she had done.

"Your first day of school," he finally decided on, picturing her vibrant hair and scraped knees as clearly as though it were yesterday. "I told you I would should you around, but then I didn't see you until lunch and I convinced myself you stood me up."

"Stood you up?" Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. "I am what? Ten?"

"Nine, actually," Clint teased, and Natasha moved her leg to kick out at him slightly in retaliation. "Anyway, I was so upset because I thought we were gonna be friends. And then when you did show up, I was mad and you put me in my place. Then I gave you my lunch…"

"We spit on hands," Natasha said, then screwed her nose up. "Is _gross._"

"Hey, you remember!" Clint cheered. He tried to memorise the look on Natasha's face, the way her eyes lit up and her cheeks pinkened just slightly. He could almost feel the happiness radiating off of her. "I didn't even get to go on the playground that day, but I didn't care."

"I never go on swing," Natasha said. "Or playground. We are busy doing other things."

"Yea, you told me that before," Clint said, though he couldn't quite remember when she had told him. Even to him, some of the things they had done were fading as time went on. "I'll take you."

"Okay," Natasha agreed, then frowned as Clint put his half-finished soup on the coffee table and stood up. "Where you are going?"

"To the playground," he said, and held out his hand. There was always a chance Natasha wouldn't take it, but he liked to give her the option. Besides, she could generally touch him without flinching now. "You coming?"

"Now?" Natasha asked, even as she put her own soup down. "Is dark soon."

"So?" Clint said. He wiggled his fingers, trying to entice her. "We're basically adults. We do what we want."

"You are sick," Natasha said, accepting his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. "You should sleep."

"I've got so much time to sleep," Clint told her, even though his body was silently protesting the idea. "C'mon, we can put our big coats on. It'll be fun!"

He left the room before Natasha could say anything else, entering the bedroom and heading over to the wardrobe. The apartment had two bedrooms, but one was too small to have anything other than a bed in it and Clint found that he preferred to be close to Natasha anyway. They each had a single bed but shared the wardrobe and chest of drawers, not that they had many clothes to put in them.

He threw Natasha's coat to her, biting his tongue as she struggled to get into it. He knew that bruised ribs took some time to heal, but he was secretly worried that she had done more damage than either of them realised. She was stubborn, though, and refused to do anything except ice them when she remembered.

"You know playground close by?" she asked, reaching into the coat pocket for her gloves.

Clint pinched her scarf and hat off the hook, handing her the scarf and tugging the hat over her head. "There's one at the end of the block, I think."

"Hmm," Natasha hummed, heading for the door. "This is silly."

"Whatever," Clint told her. "Let's just be silly for once, okay?"

"I don't…" Natasha started, then huffed, clearly frustrated.

"Don't think about it," Clint told her. "I've seen you be silly before, Tash. It's fine."

The hall outside of their apartment was thankfully clear of old ladies, and after triple checking the lock they made their way out of the building. The air was crisp, and they walked in silence to the park, Clint not quite believing that Natasha had agreed to actually go with him.

There were only two children on the playground when they reached it, and it made Natasha hesitate. Clint pushed the gate open anyway, waiting patiently until she was ready to enter, and then they stood awkwardly to the side. The children squealed with laughter as one pushed the other on the swing.

"C'mon, let's have a go," Clint suggested when Natasha didn't move. There was a second swing next to the kids that he started to head towards, hoping she would follow and not run away.

"How you do…" Natasha began to ask, trailing off as she stopped in front of the swing. She glanced at the kids but looked away when she was caught. Clint could have laughed if it didn't make his heart ache.

"I'll push you," he told her. "Just get up there."

Natasha moved like the swing would come alive and eat her, but finally she was seated and holding onto the ropes. Clint gave her back an experimental shove, barely moving her but making sure she was okay with the idea of it. She was so tense that Clint couldn't really tell, so he pushed again, starting her momentum.

Natasha squeaked as she pitched forward. Clint gently continued to push, sending her a little higher every time, feeling like he could burst from happiness at the level of trust she was showing him. This time last year, being behind her like this would have been out of the question.

"Kick your legs!" the boy on the swing beside them yelled, and demonstrated to Natasha with exaggerated movements. "You gotta pump in and out, like this."

"Does she know?" the second boy asked Clint.

"It's her first time," Clint stage-whispered to the boy, watching his eyes widen in surprise. "She's doing good though, right?"

"You're doing real good!" the boy called to Natasha, and she swivelled her head around far enough to catch a glimpse of them behind her. The boy gave her a thumbs up before she turned back around. "I only learnt the swing this year too."

"Dylan was scared of the swing," the first boy called.

"Cause Jacob pushed me too high and I fell off," Dylan admitted. He looked at Clint and then back to Natasha, scratching his head. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No," Clint laughed as Jacob made a gagging noise. "She's my best friend, though, which is just as important."

"Cool," Dylan said. "I think we have to go, Jacob."

The other boy jumped from the swing, rolling onto the ground before sprinting off towards his parents. Clint couldn't hear them but assumed their mother had been calling for them. She gave Clint a wave as she noticed him staring and he waved back, feeling a little weird.

"See ya!" Dylan said to Clint, then put his hands around his mouth to shout to Natasha, "You'll get the hang of it super quick!"

Clint chuckled as the boys left the playground, and then it was just him and Natasha. He stopped pushing her and sat on the spare swing, kicking his feet lightly as he waited for Natasha to come to a stop.

Her cheeks were red from the wing whipping against her face. She looked vibrant in a way that Clint hadn't seen her in a long time, and even though she already was young, it was like looking at the Natasha he had first met all those years ago.

"Was fun," she breathed, trying to catch her breath. "I went high."

"The best is jumping off at the end," Clint told her. "Like that boy did. It feels like flying."

"Already feels like flying," Natasha said. "It is… nice."

"Knew you'd like it," Clint said, though he really hadn't known at all. In the last year he had seen many different versions of Natasha, and he wasn't entirely sure the girl sitting beside him was the _real_ one or just another act. He had thought he was getting better at noticing, but the differences were too subtle sometimes.

"Those boys…" Natasha started, and then stopped to think about what she wanted to say next. "They don't know we are dangerous. Their parents do not… I could have killed them."

"Yea, but you didn't," Clint told her. "You were on a swing. You're having fun."

"Sometimes I think… I can't turn off," Natasha murmured. "I look at boy and think I could just do it if someone tell me."

"No one's gonna make you do that," Clint assured her. "You make the decision now, right? It's your choice."

"You will stop me if I can't turn off," Natasha said seriously. "You promise."

"Why are we talking about this?" Clint asked, trying to get a read on her emotions. Who was he sitting next to? He had thought for a moment that it was the Natasha from his childhood, the girl who beat up bullies and laughed with her whole body. Now, he wasn't so sure he would ever see her again.

"Each day is harder," she admitted, staring across the playground. "I think one day I will break. I will just be bad. Is what they made me."

"They didn't –" Clint started to say, but Natasha cut him off.

"Promise me."

Clint swallowed roughly, his throat aching from being out in the cold. Natasha stared at his hand as though she wanted to reach out and take it, but she didn't.

"Right. Okay, I promise," Clint said. He coughed into his hands and rubbed his runny nose on the sleeve of his coat. "You want another go before we head back?"

"_Da_," Natasha said, a small, secret smile on her face. "I want to go higher and higher."

Clint nodded even though she couldn't see and tried to forget what they had just spoken about. Instead he used all of his remaining energy to push Natasha as high as he could, imagining her laugh in his head to fill the silence.

* * *

Clint startled as the covers of his bed were pulled back, blinking in the dark to try and see what was happening. He reached blindly for something to use as a weapon, but a second later his vision cleared slightly and he could just make out Natasha's silhouette standing by the bed.

He reached for a hearing aid, shoving it into his ear and switching it on. "What're you doing?"

Natasha didn't answer, but she did reach out and attach her handcuffs to the headboard of Clint's bed. She climbed in beside him, her small body cold against his side as she curled up tight.

Clint froze, not wanting to move in case he spooked her. This was the most they had touched in a year, and he yearned to wrap his arms around her and draw her even closer. The single bed was small, and there really wasn't enough room for the two of them, but there was no way Clint would kick her out.

He rolled onto his side and cushioned his head with his hand, even more surprised to meet her green eyes head on. He drank in the sight of them, feeling high off the colour. This was the first time they had made eye contact since the day in the clearing. He was confused and still half-asleep, but could recognise the silvery tear tracks down Natasha's cheeks.

"You have a nightmare?" he asked hoarsely. His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw, and it had taken him a long time to fall asleep.

Natasha nodded, and fresh tears pricked at her eyes. Clint didn't really know what to do; he didn't want to reach out and soothe her in case she hadn't fully recovered, but he also didn't want to just do nothing. It was unlike Natasha to come to him for comfort anymore, and he was again left questioning exactly which version of Natasha he might be dealing with.

"Don't let me be bad," Natasha whispered, her voice wavering. Her right arm was pulled tight above her head, and Clint could guarantee her ribs would be screaming in pain from the way she was curled around them.

"I won't" Clint told her. He hesitantly reached out to touch her cheek, and when she didn't move he gently rubbed his thumb over the soft flesh. "Hey, you're okay. We're in Bed-Stuy. Home."

"Home," Natasha repeated. Her voice cracked around the word and she closed her eyes with a shuddering breath. "Okay. Home."

"Yea," Clint breathed, continuing to stroke her cheek until he could see her relax. He couldn't quite believe what was happening, and wondered briefly if Natasha had been refusing herself comfort because she didn't think she deserved it.

Maybe she had been pretending to still be afraid of him. Maybe she really _was _still afraid of him, or maybe she was more afraid of herself. Whatever was going on, Clint was just glad she had come to him instead of running away.

Despite his sore throat and the heaviness in his eyelids, Clint stayed awake for as long as he could, committing the moment to memory.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

hey guys! sorry this chapter is a lil later than usual, i had a bit of a break but i'm back now! this chapter includes someone being drugged so please take caution if that's not your thing!  
and please drop a review if you enjoy this chapter, i love hearing from you all :)  
hope you enjoy x

* * *

**Brooklyn, 2007**

**January**

Even though they were still in Brooklyn, Natasha was in a bad mood the week leading up to Russian Christmas. Clint couldn't really blame her, considering the memories she had associated with the holiday, but she had once again began to shut herself off from him instead of seeking comfort.

She hadn't tried to climb into his bed since the night in December, and was stubbornly refusing to accept that it had ever happened. Clint was frustrated; he had been sure that she was finally opening up and now it was like they had taken ten steps backwards. He just wanted her to feel safe and comfortable but there were some days when it seemed impossible.

Clint glanced subtly at the clock in Mrs Timms' kitchen, and then coughed into the crook of his arm. His cold had lingered for longer than he would have thought, but it was beginning to clear now and he only had a slight itch in his throat.

Mrs Timms stopped talking and gave him a look that made him automatically feel guilty, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "Did you try the garlic and milk?"

"Yes ma'am," Clint lied easily. Lying to old women was becoming second nature, he realised absently. "It's just lingering."

"It's because he went out in the cold," Natasha told the woman, her American accent perfect. The sound of it still shocked Clint, despite him having heard it more often than not over the past year. Natasha's Russian accent only made an appearance now when they were in the privacy of their own home.

"Henry!" Mrs Timms scolded, and Clint deflated slightly under her glare. He could see Natasha's smug smirk as she continued to put away the woman's groceries, and Clint really wanted to snap back at her for dobbing him in.

"You shouldn't have let him," Mrs Timms said, beating Clint to it and turning her glare to Natasha. "He should've been in bed."

"What?" Natasha cried. "But how am I –?"

"No buts," Mrs Timms interrupted. "Both of you should take better care of yourself."

"Sorry Mrs Timms," Clint said. "We weren't really thinking."

"It's just a cold," Natasha muttered sullenly, but she still gave Mrs Timms an apologetic smile. Natasha's cover, Emily, was much more timid and childlike than Natasha herself was, and it generally freaked Clint out to see her slip into the different persona so easily.

"Emily, dear, get out the milk," Mrs Timms said, hauling herself out of the kitchen chair, and Clint internally groaned. "I'll make you a little pick me up."

"Oh, that's okay," Clint tried to stop her. "We have to go soon anyway."

"We still have a few minutes, at least," Natasha said. Her eyes flitted to the clock and then over to Clint, but he couldn't tell if it was more her or Emily looking back at him.

"Good," Mrs Timms said decisively. "It will only take a moment."

Natasha moved out of the way of the old woman, moving over to the pantry to put away her canned goods. Clint still wasn't exactly sure when Mrs Timms had seemingly adopted them, but ever since they had moved into the Brooklyn apartment they had found themselves helping her out with her everyday chores.

Clint watched warily as Mrs Timms mixed the crush garlic into the milk before putting the glass in the microwave. His throat itched, and he fought the urge to clear it, but holding back only made it worse and soon he was coughing violently into his hands.

"Here," Mrs Timms shoved the glass under his nose. "Drink."

Clint didn't think about it. He threw the drink back and swallowed as fast as he could, trying not to gag as the flavour eventually reached his tongue. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and shuddered, handing the glass back to Mrs Timms. The itch in his throat was gone, though the taste leftover was worse.

"As good as mine?" Natasha teased, and Clint glared at her whilst Mrs Timms' back was turned.

"Did you crush the garlic by hand, dear?" Mrs Timms asked.

"No," Natasha frowned, playing her part almost too perfectly. "I guess that's the difference, huh?"

Mrs Timms hummed as she placed the glass in the sink. "Thank you for your help, darling."

"No problem," Natasha beamed, dusting her hands off on her jeans. "We really should go now, or we might be late."

Clint jumped up from his own chair, almost knocking it over in the process. He needed to brush his teeth or drink a whole pot of coffee to get the foul taste out of his mouth. Plus, they really _were_ going to be late if they didn't leave soon.

"Emily, honey, wait a minute," Mrs Timms called as they headed towards the door. "I have something for you, too."

Natasha paused, taken aback. Clint could practically see the thoughts tumbling through her head, but he had no idea what gift the woman would have for her either. His fingers itched for his bow, and he tried to shove the feeling down, reminding himself that Mrs Timms was just an old woman.

She shuffled towards where they stood by the front door and thrust her gifts towards Natasha. "Chamomile tea and a lavender heat pack, dear."

Natasha blinked down at them. "What's this for?"

"To help with your nightmares," Mrs Timms explained, missing how Natasha immediately froze at the word. "Tea to soothe your anxious thoughts, and lavender to help you relax before bed."

Natasha remained frozen, and Clint tried to wrack his brain for something convincing to say. "That's really nice…"

"I hope this can help ease the pain," Mrs Timms continued, ignoring Clint and focusing fully on Natasha's stunned face. "Trauma is a funny business. It burrows down deep inside and makes a home and sometimes it's hard to find yourself through the mess."

Clint held his breath, sure that they had somehow been caught. Maybe Mrs Timms was actually a spy herself, maybe she had been sent to lull them into a false sense of security so they would be easier to grab. He was convinced that Mrs Timms knew exactly what they had done, and from the look on Natasha's face, she thought the same thing.

"The aftermath is always the hardest part," Mrs Timms said softly. "I know the memories feel like they'll never fade, but I'm sure your parents are watching over you everyday."

Clint could have screamed in relief as he realised that Mrs Timms wasn't talking about Ivan and all of the things they had done since; she just believed that Emily's parents had died in a car accident, and that was why she had nightmares most nights. He had come up with the excuse on the spot after they had first moved in.

He turned to Natasha, expecting to meet her relieved gaze, but her eyes were unfocused on the gifts in her hand and Clint suddenly realised that she definitely wasn't Emily anymore.

"Thank you so much," he gushed, pushing the door open. "You're too kind."

"You're both very respectable young people," Mrs Timms said. "You take care of each other, you hear?"

"Yes ma'am," Clint replied. "We'll see you around."

"Buh-bye dears," she waved.

Clint closed the door behind them and grabbed Natasha by the elbow, pulling her along with him into their own apartment. He couldn't tell what she was thinking but her whole body was tense, and she hadn't spoken since she had been given the gifts. He didn't know what to say, worried that the wrong thing would set her off.

Once the door was shut Natasha slammed the gifts on the kitchen counter, and when she faced Clint he could tell that she was clearly angry about something. He braced himself for a fight he was sure he wouldn't win.

"I am _not _traumatised," she snapped, her Russian accent bleeding back into her voice as easily as if she had flipped a switch.

"I don't think it's as easy as just saying 'I'm not traumatised'" Clint said warily.

"Who she think she is?" Natasha continued, eyes flashing dangerously. "I am not weak."

"No one said that, Tash," Clint groaned. He walked into the living room and threw himself onto the couch, feeling his stomach churn. The milk and garlic concoction was not sitting well with him. "She's just an old lady trying to help out a girl whose parents are dead."

"You think she is right," Natasha said.

"I didn't say that," Clint replied quickly. "I already know you're strong."

"But?" Natasha pushed, hands on her hips.

"But has two meanings, you know," Clint mused. His stomach gurgled and he moaned, pressing a hand against his ribs. "It also means ass."

Natasha stared at him for a minute, her expression unreadable. Then she spun on her heel and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door so hard behind her that the generic flower picture they had framed on the wall fell to the ground and smashed.

"C'mon, Nat," Clint called, but if she answered he couldn't hear her. He half expected Mrs Timms to come barging in at the noise. "It was a joke."

He ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He was tired and felt sick, and couldn't really be bothered following Natasha around as she conned their next hit into leaving his club with her.

The hit itself had come from the man's wife, and after doing some digging they had found him to be a major player in a human trafficking ring. Natasha had accepted the hit almost immediately after finding out that particular piece of information. Clint suspected that the thought of the man had been dwelling on her mind and was contributing to her bad mood.

She stormed out of the bedroom, zipping her coat up with one hand and using the other to strap a gun to her thigh. Her hair was pulled into a stylish bun, and she had applied just enough makeup to make it seem like she wasn't really trying.

"Goodbye," she snapped, yanking her bag off the counter.

Clint jumped up, ignoring the pain in his stomach. "Hey, I'm not ready yet."

"I go without you," Natasha said. "I don't need you."

"Oh my god," Clint groaned. "You can't be serious. Gimme a minute and I'll get my stuff."

"_Nyet_, I go myself," Natasha protested. "Is one man. You look for next one."

She reached into her bag and threw a postcard at him. He watched it flutter to the floor between them and glared at her.

"Real mature," he said, walking over to the postcard. "I'm supposed to be your cover. Like always."

"Not always," Natasha said, and Clint couldn't help but feel a little hurt at her words. "Not today."

She left the apartment and Clint huffed, turning the postcard in his hands. There were map coordinates and a name written on the back, the only information they ever received from people looking to have other people assassinated. It was Clint's least favourite part of the job.

He headed back towards the couch and the old laptop they used to research their targets. No matter how annoyed he was at Natasha, he couldn't help but worry about her out there on her own. She _was _strong. She would be okay.

* * *

The first thing Clint realised when he pried his crusty eyes open was that there was a stranger in their apartment.

The second thing he realised was that Natasha was waving her gun around his face, and it was enough to make him leap off the couch and move towards them before he even knew what was happening.

Natasha spun to face him, gun coming up to point squarely at his forehead. Clint immediately held his hands up in the universal sign of peace, keeping his gaze steady on her own dilated and wild eyes. Something was wrong.

"Gonna turn my aid on," he said slowly, watching to see if she understood.

She moved the gun and tuned her back to him, walking back over to the man that was currently handcuffed in their kitchen. Clint quickly flicked his aids on and followed behind her, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"Ta da!" Natasha said, gesturing to the man with the gun.

"Woah, lady," the man yelped, trying to scoot away from her on his bottom. "Stop waving that thing at me!"

"Look what I find," Natasha continued as though she hadn't heard him. "I want to kill him."

"This isn't the mark," Clint said. He had only seen the picture of their target a couple of times, but the man before them was at least thirty years younger.

"I'm not Mark!" the guy said, looking desperately to Clint. "I don't even know a Mark. My name's Chase, okay, you can check my wallet."

Natasha pulled the wallet out from her bra, and Clint noticed that she was only wearing her short dress and not her coat. There were goose bumps across her skin. Clint frowned and took the wallet from her, inspecting the man's ID.

His name really was Chase, and he was only twenty-four. Clint still didn't understand what was going on, but something was wrong with Natasha and there was a stranger in their kitchen, and he was really goddamned tired.

"What's going on?" he asked her, and when she refused to meet his gaze he sighed heavily. "Tash? What's going on?"

"He see me," she said, and actually pouted. Alarm bells began to sound even louder in Clint's head. "I kill mark and this _mudak_ is watching. Can I kill him now?"

"No," Clint said absently, now turning his attention to Chase. "What did you see?"

"Nothing!" Chase squeaked, then reconsidered. "Technically I saw _her _slit a man's throat, but honestly, nothing happened. I'll never speak a word of this if you just let me go. Please, man. She's crazy."

"Am not," Natasha argued back. "I bring him back for you."

"Uh, thanks?" Clint said, scratching at his head. He didn't know what to do.

"If this is a weird sex thing…" Chase started to say.

"No!" Clint cried, cutting him off. "God, I don't know what _any _of this is."

"I bring him back," Natasha repeated. "Am I good girl?"

"Yea," Clint agreed, and then turned to look at her properly. Her eyes were wide and she was bouncing on the spot, as though she had taken pure shots of energy and couldn't contain it within her body. "What else did you see?"

"They don't usually react like this," Chase said carefully. He blew a strand of thick, dark hair out of his eyes and looked up at Clint. "The girls, I mean. They can't walk or talk and he would just bundle them up into his car. Really, man, I'm not mad that he's dead."

Clint frowned. "She was drugged?"

"Ooh yea," Chase laughed, then winced as Natasha brandished her gun again. Clint would really need to take that off her soon. "Look. Mr Grey pays the staff to keep a 'special' bottle of wine behind the counter, but it's loaded with date rape drugs. He offers to buy girls a drink then makes sure its poured from that bottle."

"Mr Grey," Clint repeated. He quickly left the room, entering the bedroom to find the picture they had printed of their mark just last week. When he returned to the kitchen he thrust it at Chase. "This guy?"

"Yea!" Chase cheered, and Natasha bounced on the spot again, clapping her hands.

"I did it!" she cried, beaming. "I am good."

"Tell me about the wine," Clint demanded, although he was already beginning to piece two and two together.

"I go to the bar every Friday to try and intercept the drinks," Chase explained cautiously. "I see who he's buying for and just knock the tray over, or buy them something more expensive. But _she_ was too sneaky. I couldn't get to her in time."

He tried to point at Natasha with his bound hands. Clint felt fear coil deep in his belly as he realised that Natasha had likely been drugged and he had no idea with what.

"So I followed them when they left together," Chase continued. "Thought maybe I could stop her from getting in his car or something. Except instead I witnessed a whole ass _murder_. Then she caught me watching, but like, she shouldn't be standing right now man."

"Her body works differently," Clint commented distractedly, ignoring Chase's snort of indignation. "Hey, Tash, how do you feel?'

"Fine," Natasha answered. She put the gun down on the kitchen counter and squatted so she was eye level with Chase. "Now can I kill him?"

"Please man, I'm begging you," Chase said. "I won't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Not today, Tasha," Clint replied after a moment of thinking.

Chase sighed in relief, his whole body going slack. Natasha straightened up and stamped her foot, acting every bit the petulant child. It would almost be hilarious if she wasn't drugged up to her eyeballs and entirely unpredictable.

"We will keep him?" she asked Clint.

"You got anyone that'll look for you?" Clint directed to Chase.

"Nah, it's, uh, just me," he said softly. "Mum kicked me out after I got arrested, so."

"For what?" Clint said, and Chase shrugged.

"Hacking the CIA. I'm pretty good at computers."

Clint considered this for a moment, trying to figure out a solution to their problem. There was no way they could let Chase leave, but they also couldn't just kill him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His head pounded just from thinking about it. He needed to sleep on it.

"You're gonna stay here tonight," he said firmly, and reached down to pull him up by the cuffs around his wrists. "If you try to leave I _will_ shoot you, kay?"

"Whatever you say, man," Chase said, and he was actually grinning. "Honestly, I'm just thrilled to not be dead right now. She's something else."

"Something else," Natasha parroted, following behind them like a puppy. She turned her nose up at the sight of the beds in the bedroom. "But I'm not tired."

"Tash, you gotta have a big drink of water," Clint told her, and watched her until she walked into the bathroom to do just that. He sat Chase down on Natasha's bed and connected her own pair of handcuffs to his so that the man was secured to the bed head. "I can't deal with this right now."

"How old are you?" Chase asked, looking around the room.

"Doesn't matter," Clint muttered. He walked into the bathroom with pyjamas for Natasha, only to find her swaying at the sink. He carefully held her by the elbow as she finished her glass of water. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," she mumbled, then pulled a face at herself in the mirror. "I really want to kill him."

"Yea I know," Clint said. He handed her the pyjamas and turned his back, too worried to actually leave the room as she got changed. "Pretty wild night, huh?"

"Silly," he heard her say before she pushed past him.

Clint quickly got himself ready for bed, then re-entered the bedroom to see Natasha and Chase having a staring competition from opposite beds. Chase waggled his eyebrows but Natasha didn't even flinch.

"Only Clint does it right," she said. "Is funny."

"Clint and Tash, right?" Chase said, breaking eye contact. "I've been abducted by children. I think I'm in shock."

"Natasha," Clint corrected him, then slid into bed next to her. It was the first time they had shared a bed since the night in December, but if Natasha had any reservations about it she didn't show it.

"I don't think I can sleep," Chase said.

"I'm not sleeping," Clint told him pointedly. Natasha wrapped herself around him and he unconsciously began rubbing up and down her back, his other hand reaching to grasp her wrist since her handcuffs were otherwise occupied.

"Is your job," she said into his shoulder. Her speech was beginning to slur, and Clint briefly wondered if he should have made her throw up or something. "Hold me together."

"Yea, I know," Clint said to her. "You try and sleep a little, okay?"

"Not tired," she protested, even as her eyelids slid shut. Her whole body had gone heavy. Maybe the drugs were starting to affect her like they were originally supposed to.

"I could think of worse ways to spend my Friday night," Chase mused.

Clint looked down at Natasha's peaceful face. Her makeup was smudged and her hair a tangled mess, but she was warm against his side and he was just happy to have her with him, no matter what came next. It was sure to be an interesting night.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

hey guys! i'm really loving this story at the moment, so hopefully updates will be a lil quicker! i'm planning on this fic being 60 chapters long, so we're getting towards the end now even if it doesn't seem like it at the moment!

again a big thank you for the support :) i love hearing your thoughts!

thank you, hope you enjoy x

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Not even an hour later, Clint was half-dragging Natasha to the bathroom so that she could throw up. He scooped her hair up from around her face as she knelt over the toilet, her body shuddering as she vomited some of the drugs from her system. He tried to keep one eye trained out the door, where he could just see Chase's legs stretched out on the bed.

"Is no good," Natasha moaned, pushing herself away from the toilet.

Clint pulled her up from under her armpits, letting her lean heavily against him as she rinsed her mouth at the sink. Her skin was a little clammy and her eyes were glassy, but she did actually seem to be doing okay. Then again, Clint didn't really know what was considered normal in this situation.

"It's probably better that you be sick," Clint told her. He draped her arm over his shoulder and helped her back out to the bedroom. "'Specially since we don't know what you actually took."

"It's strong," Chase said, butting into their conversation. "When I say she shouldn't be standing –"

"Yea I know," Clint muttered. "She shouldn't be standing. Right. But haven't we also established that her body works differently?"

"Not tired," Natasha said, and slipped out from under Clint's arm with surprising agility. Before he could grab her again she ran out of the room, and he groaned loudly to try and cover the sound of Chase's laugh.

"This is potentially the best night of my life," Chase continued to laugh. "Apart from the murder, which I didn't see."

"Right," Clint drawled. He moved over to the bed, taking the small key that unlocked Natasha's handcuffs out of his pocket so that he could take Chase with him to the living room. "You could _potentially_ still die, ya know."

"C'mon man," Chase moaned, swinging his legs off the bed. "Don't do that."

Clint rolled his eyes and pushed the older boy in front of him, following him out of the room. In the short time that Natasha had been away from them, she had managed to push the coffee table over to the wall and was spread out on the dirty rug like a starfish. Clint blinked at her.

"Awww Tasha, no," he whined. "The germs."

Natasha giggled, high-pitched and girlish, the way she used to when they were children. Clint sat Chase on the couch and moved to stand over her, holding out his hand so he could pull her up.

She stared up at him, eyes wide. "I want Mrs Timms cookie."

"You ate the last one," Clint told her patiently. "Let's sit on the couch."

"With prisoner," Natasha sang, and finally let Clint yank her up. She slumped into him and rested her head on his shoulder. "We make him get cookie."

"No," Clint said, sitting her beside Chase on the couch. "You can get a cookie from Mrs Timms tomorrow, when you're feeling better."

"I am fine," Natasha protested. "Watch me."

She launched herself backwards off the couch, flipping over and landing in a perfect split. Clint tiredly rubbed his hand over his face as she moved into a backwards walkover before balancing in a handstand for a moment, and then jumping back up to stand on her feet.

"Ta da!" she said.

"You just threw up," Clint said. "You're gonna make yourself sick again."

"_Ya mag_," Natasha told him, beaming even though she was swaying on the spot.

"What did she say?" Chase called.

"You're not a magician," Clint deadpanned, ignoring Chase and taking Natasha by the elbow to guide her back to the couch. "I know you're not tired, either, but it might be nice to sit for a while."

Natasha sat beside Chase and eyed him critically. "I will kill you."

"Girl, you gotta stop saying that," Chase complained. "You'll make me think you mean it."

"Is only because we are good now," Natasha glared. "Or you would be dead in alley."

Clint held the back of his hand against her forehead, unsure if the warmth radiating from her skin was an effect of the drug or due to her impromptu acrobatic performance. She wiggled away from him and slouched further down into the couch cushion, turning her eyes to Clint.

"How you feeling?" he asked her carefully.

She considered him for a moment, then shrugged. "Hungry."

"Right," Clint muttered. "Gimme a sec."

Chase got up and followed Clint into the kitchen, letting Natasha stretch out along the couch. Clint tried not to let the man's presence bother him too much, but there had never been another person in their space before, and Clint was more than a little nervous. They had actually unintentionally kidnapped someone, and he had no idea what to do.

"She's something else," Chase said, repeating his statement from earlier. "I don't know what happened to her but damn, her body must be whack."

"Something else and then some," Clint murmured to himself. He pulled a packet of instant noodles from the cupboard and set about cooking them.

"You two just live here, huh?" Chase asked, looking around the small space. "Chilling out, killing people on the weekend."

"You want me to chain you to the bed again?" Clint snapped.

Chase's eyes widened in shock and he took half a step back, holding his bound hands up in a peace offering. "Chill man. You gotta know how weird this is for me."

Clint didn't apologise, but he did glance over to the couch to make sure Natasha was still there. He really didn't want to kill Chase, but he couldn't think of what else they could do with him. Letting him go was out of the question, and there was no way they could wipe his memory the way that it used to happen to Natasha.

"I'm trying to give you a chance here," he said eventually. "Nat'll wake up tomorrow and the drug will have worn off, and she's not gonna think twice about actually killing you."

Chase was silent for a moment. "How do two kids get mixed up in this sort of business?"

Clint laughed bitterly, stirring the noodles in the pot. "What the hell, right?"

He took the noodles off the stove and drained them in the sink before dumping them in a bowl. He squeezed ketchup on the top, and then found a can of mini hotdogs that he cut up and mixed in with the noodles and sauce. It smelt as disgusting as it looked, but it was one of Natasha's favourite meals.

"She was training to be a spy or whatever," Clint began. He blew on the noodles, trying to cool them slightly before he gave it to Natasha. "We met when we were young. There was a man who… he hurt her, for years. So one day we killed him. Now we're here, and it's all we know how to do."

"That's some heavy shit," Chase said slowly. "Can't be easy, trying to run this kind of operation."

"We're doing fine," Clint said, even though he was finding it hard to believe himself. "We have a system."

Chase fiddled with his thumbs, looking down at the ground. Clint picked up the bowl of noodles and made to move back into the living room when the man suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He didn't meet Clint's gaze, and Clint had to remind himself to breathe.

"What if I made an offer," Chase began. "What if I could help?"

"Help with what?" Clint hissed. "You gonna shoot someone?"

Chase flinched. "Nah, man. But maybe I can make the process easier. Get the money into a bank account, real secure. I bet you do some research, right? I could get the dirt, book the flights, do the paperwork. Hack."

Clint considered him, feeling the bowl begin to burn the tips of his fingers. It was a tempting offer, even if they would have to sort a bunch of extra stuff out. Plus, it would solve his problem of what to do with Chase. It would only be a matter of whether or not Natasha agreed.

"I'm not making any promises," Clint said eventually, noticing the relief that flooded the man's face. "We can try work something out when Natasha is…"

"Feeling better?" Natasha cut in.

Clint shouldn't have been surprised that she had snuck up on them. Trying to have a secret conversation was basically impossible when she was around. For a split second he thought that the drugs had worn off, that the Natasha standing beside him was fully sober and very aware of what they had just been speaking about.

However, a beat passed and her eyes focused on the bowl in his hand. She made grabby hands at it, her whole face open and alive. "Oooh, yum."

Clint let her take the bowl and walk unsteadily back to the couch. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and followed behind her, gesturing for Chase to do the same. Clint sat beside her and let Chase take the dusty armchair, and they fell into a tense silence as Natasha slurped at her noodle concoction.

"I like idea," she said around a mouthful of hotdog. "He is prisoner, he does boring work."

Clint blinked at her. She was sneakier than he gave her credit for. "We're gonna talk about it when you're feeling better."

"Am fine," Natasha replied easily. "You hate boring work. Is boring."

"How do we know we can trust him?" Clint asked her, ignoring Chase as he tried to butt in. "What happens if he turns us in?"

"Easy," Natasha said. "I kill girlfriend."

Clint couldn't ignore the noise Chase made now. He turned to the man, who was leaning forward in the armchair with his hands clasped in front of him, staring directly at Natasha and pleading with her.

"You can't hurt Quinn," he said desperately. "You can do what you want to me, but leave Quinn out of this. I won't do anything wrong. I'll just help you guys out on the side, I swear."

"You said you didn't have anyone who would look for you," Clint said coldly. He didn't know how Natasha had found out about his girlfriend, but he wasn't about to question her. Chase's reaction was answer enough.

"I didn't… I didn't think it was gonna be like this," Chase admitted. "I thought I could run off or you would let me go. I didn't…"

"Time for bed," Clint said gruffly. He stood up and took Chase by the arm, marching him back into the bedroom and over to Natasha's bed. He reattached his handcuffs to the second pair on the headboard, then left him there on his own and returned to the living room.

Natasha had finished her noodles and was draped heavily across the couch, watching him carefully. Clint moved her legs so he could sit and then dropped them back over his lap. He was furious, at both himself and Chase; himself because he had believed a stranger, and at Chase for lying in the first place. He was also a little annoyed that Natasha hadn't shared that information, but couldn't really blame her in her current state of mind.

"What do we do?" he asked her softly. His anxiety crept under his skin, and he curled his hands into his fists as he fought the wave of panic that briefly washed over him.

Natasha shrugged. "I think we give him chance."

"We're not making a mistake?" Clint continued.

"I can kill him?" Natasha tried, batting her eyelashes.

Clint couldn't help but chuckle, and fell back against the couch cushions with a sigh. "Nah. I don't think we should kill him."

"No fair," she whined. "It would be fun."

"I guess if he's as good as he says he is, it'll make everything easier," Clint mused. "We could just go where we need to go, do what we need to do."

"Hmm," Natasha hummed. Clint glanced over at her to see that her eyes were closed, her right arm stretched above her head and resting on the armrest as though it were chained there. "Not tired."

"I know you're not tired," Clint agreed, rubbing her calf. "Maybe when you wake up in the morning you'll have changed your mind."

"_Nyet_," Natasha said. "If I don't kill him, he is our prisoner. Is how it works."

"Okay," Clint said, not wanting to argue. He knew that when she woke up in the morning she would have likely changed her mind, but for now he let her believe whatever she wanted.

"You ask me question," she said suddenly, cracking one eye open.

"What question?" Clint asked her, frowning.

"To make sure is no…" she closed her eye again, a faint crinkle appearing between her brow. "_Sotryaseniye_."

"You're not concussed, Tasha," Clint reminded her. "You're drugged."

"Ask," she demanded.

"Um," Clint started, unsure of what she actually wanted him to do. "What's your name?"

"Natalia Romanova," she answered promptly.

"What year is it?"

"2007," she said, then dug her heel into his thigh a little. "Is too easy."

"Where are we?" he tried, smiling.

"Home. Okay," she said, and it made his heart soar to know that 'home' and 'okay' were now synonymous for her.

"What's my name?" he said.

"Bird brain," she replied, then laughed from deep in her belly. "I am drugged, not concussed."

"I know," Clint said softly. "Hey, I got one. You know what you are?"

Natasha frowned slightly. "Girl?"

"Nah, do you remember what Chase said?" he pushed. He moved from rubbing her calf to massaging her feet and watched the tension leave her shoulders in an instant.

"Something else!" Natasha crowed proudly, opening her eyes to beam at him.

"And then some," Clint told her, mirroring her smile. If it weren't for the drugs coursing through her system, he could almost pretend that this was just a normal moment between them.

"Is good questions," Natasha said softly, then started to sign. _Do you know what you are?_

_No_, Clint replied. _Tell me, Tash._

_My friend_, she signed, hands hovering just over chest as though it were hard for her to hold them up. _Good friend. Best friend._

She closed her eyes again before Clint could reply properly, but he figured she would know, anyway. One hand fell heavy to her side, and the other curled back up to the armrest. He wanted to hold it for her, but didn't want to disrupt the position they were already in.

She was exhausted. He thought about spending the night watching Chase, like he had originally planned, but one look at Natasha's peaceful face was enough to get him to stay right where he was.

He knew she would feel terrible in the morning, and that they would have to have some very difficult conversations regarding the whole Chase situation. For now, none of it mattered. He was content on the couch, close to Natasha, his good friend. His _best_ friend.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

lil warning, there is mention of death (as in, they're assassins and this is what's gonna be happening now lol)  
i feel like some of you guys will have been waiting for this, so i hope you enjoy! and thank you for all the lovely comments again :) my heart melts every time i read one!  
thank you again and hope you enjoy x

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**Germany, 2007**

**January**

"You should have let me kill him."

Clint glanced over to where Natasha was crouched across from him. She had one hand pressed to her ear, and even though she didn't outwardly look annoyed, he could tell that she was. He smiled sheepishly as she rolled her eyes at whatever Chase was saying in her ear. Maybe not being able to wear an earpiece wasn't as bad he thought.

_Everything okay? _he signed to Natasha.

_He wants to double check the security cameras_, she replied. _But now he's complaining about the death threat._

_Tell him to shut up_, Clint said. _It's freezing._

"I am going," Natasha said out loud. "Shut up."

Clint waved her off as she crept across the roof and disappeared over the edge. He rubbed his hands together, then picked up his bow and took his position against the ledge. He couldn't see Natasha yet but knew she would be picking her way through security somewhere beneath him.

The walkie-talkie by his side crackled slightly, and he sighed as he switched it on and brought it up to his ear. "Next time you're texting me, okay?"

"Did Natasha switch her earpiece off?" Chase's distorted voice asked over the device.

"I dunno, she's gone in," Clint replied. "You gotta stop bugging her or she really will kill you."

Chase had been with them for two weeks now, and they were still trying to figure out how the three of them worked as a team. Just as Clint had predicted, Natasha had awoken from her drug fuelled high and immediately disagreed with their plan to keep Chase around. It had taken a lot of compromise to get to where they were now; with Chase living in their tiny second bedroom, using the old laptop to securely research and plan their next move.

He had procured an earpiece for Natasha so that he could remotely communicate with her, which she had begrudgingly accepted only because they hadn't been able to make one that worked with Clint's hearing aid yet. Despite Natasha's reservations, Clint found himself warming up to the guy.

Chase sighed. "The whole point of the earpiece is –"

"Tell me you can't see her right now," Clint interrupted. He could see Natasha himself, creeping along the side of the building. She glanced around a corner and then disappeared, probably through a window so that she could sneak through the inside of the building instead of the courtyard.

The walkie-talkie crackled again, and Clint chuckled softly to himself at Chase's silence. He knew that Chase would be sitting in his van down the block, watching the security footage from inside the house in case anything went wrong. He was oddly protective over them, even though they had technically blackmailed him into working with them.

"It's fine, Chase," Clint assured him. "Nat knows what she's doing. Walk in, stab the guy, walk out. No biggie."

"Except it's the freaking Vice Chancellor of Germany," Chase hissed over the walkie-talkie.

"Just don't think about that part," Clint said. "Look, I gotta get a better view."

Clint set the walkie-talkie down and left it there, not caring that Chase was still trying to talk to him. His concerns were valid, and Clint could agree that this was far riskier than anything they had done before, but the price had been too great to ignore; now that there were three of them, they needed the extra money, especially since Chase wanted to update their tech.

The Vice Chancellor hadn't really done anything bad, and Clint had been surprised at how easily he had agreed to take the hit. He tried to be as morally righteous as possible but the line between right and wrong was beginning to blur. It was beginning to become too easy to just take whatever hit that came their way. Even Natasha had seemed to change her opinion slightly, even though they never explicitly talked about it.

Clint moved from one rooftop to another, winding his way over to the ledge that would give him a clear view into the window of the Vice Chancellor's room. He crouched with his bow, nocking an arrow and drawing the string back to his anchor point. He knew it was probably a little eager of him, but he wanted to be sure of his position before he actually had to shoot anyone.

Below him, he watched as the Vice Chancellor opened the door and Natasha slipped into the room. She had shed her coat and gloves and was only wearing a simple black dress, and yet the sight of her still momentarily took Clint's breath away. The Vice Chancellor was clearly enjoying whatever she was telling him, because it wasn't long before he was pouring them both a drink and asking his security to step away from the room.

No matter how many times he watched her, Clint would never get tired of seeing Natasha in her element. He didn't particularly like how easy it was for her to slip into a whole new persona, but the sheer strength and grace that she exuded left Clint in awe. She was always in control – save for the night in the bar – and it was equal parts beautiful and deadly. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Natasha threw her head back in a laugh, and then Clint watched as she drew the Vice Chancellor in for a kiss. His fingers curled tighter around his bow as he counted down from ten under his breath, keeping his arrow trained on the old man beneath him.

A second later, Natasha was pushing the Vice Chancellor away from her, and he slumped onto the bed in a growing pool of blood. She stood, wiping her knife on the side of her dress, and then moved over to rummage through the bedside table drawers.

"What the hell?" Clint muttered to himself. He suddenly wished he had the walkie-talkie with him so that he could get Chase to ask Natasha what she was doing. Snooping wasn't part of the plan.

Natasha seemingly found what she was looking for and shoved the small object into her bra. Then, as if she knew he would be confused about what she was doing, she turned to face the window and signed, _I'll tell you in the car_.

"Right," Clint said, and relaxed his arms. He rolled his shoulders around in a circle and made sure Natasha was out of the room before packing his bow up and heading towards their rendezvous point.

He didn't bother turning the walkie-talkie back on as he waited. It was cold, and he didn't really want to hear Chase complain anymore than he already would. He gave Natasha a minute to meet him, then sighed and headed back towards the building. One thing he had learnt about Natasha was that she wasn't very good at sticking to a schedule.

He followed in Natasha's footsteps until he was standing in the courtyard. There were no guards, but there was also no Natasha. He cursed and double-checked that his quiver was secured on his back before moving into the house as quietly as possible.

The Vice Chancellor's house was elaborate and modern; Clint almost didn't want to touch anything, and felt much like he was a kid again waiting in the jewellery store with his mum. He moved down the hallway, coming across two dead security members outside of the bedroom door, and when he peeked in he could only see the Vice Chancellor on the bed.

Clint continued down the hall until he came across a closed door with a slither of light peeking out from underneath it. He opened his bow and took an arrow out of the quiver, readying himself for whatever he might find. He just hoped that it was Natasha so they could get out of there.

It was Natasha, but she wasn't alone. Clint pushed the door open fully and lowered his bow when he realised that she wasn't in any danger. There was a woman covered in blood on the floor between them, but Natasha was focused on the only other living person in the house: a small baby, who was sitting up in his crib and holding his hands above his head as though he wanted to be lifted out.

"Tash?" Clint asked cautiously, inching his way into the room.

"She got in way," Natasha told him. "I try to leave and she is coming out of room. I push her back in and stab her too."

"It's okay," Clint said. "Let's just go. It's done."

The baby whined and waved his arms at Natasha. She took a step away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Clint couldn't see her eyes but he could tell from the way that she was holding herself that she was confused about what was happening around her.

"I am not your mother," she said sharply to the baby, then turned to Clint. "I don't want one."

"Okay, that's fine," Clint answered, trying to hurry her. He couldn't even fully wrap his head around the wife, but he didn't know if security had managed to make a call before Natasha killed them. "Don't worry about that now. We gotta go back to Chase."

Natasha made no move to leave, and it took Clint half a minute to realise that the reason she wasn't going anywhere was the baby. He huffed and stepped over the wife, leaning over the crib to lift the baby out before he started screaming.

"What you are doing?" Natasha snapped.

"Taking the kid," Clint muttered. "You weren't just gonna leave him here, I could tell. We'll drop him at the hospital or something."

"They find him when they find bodies," Natasha argued, even as she followed him out of the room. "He can stay with dead mother."

Clint knew that Natasha hadn't wanted to leave the baby on his own, but he wasn't going to tell her that now. He held the squirming child close to his chest as they walked past the security guards and out into the cold night. The wife had been an unfortunate fatality, and again Clint found himself not caring as much as he once might have.

"Chase is dealing with the security footage, so once we drop the kid off we'll be in the all clear," Clint explained. "If we leave him there, we don't know how long it'll be before he's found."

Natasha didn't answer as they made it out onto the street. Chase's van was at the end of the block, and even though it was snowing the baby seemed happy enough to be held against Clint's chest. He didn't really know what to do with babies, but figured as long as he didn't drop him then they would be okay.

Chase's jaw dropped open as he turned to watch them enter the van. "Hold up. What's going on?"

"Accidental baby acquisition," Natasha said smoothly.

"We gotta take him to the hospital," Clint said as he settled beside her.

"Where's the mum?" Chase asked.

"Dead," Natasha said. "She got in way."

"The wife was inside and didn't realise her husband was hooking up with another girl in the next room?" Chase said. "That's rough."

"You think I want to kiss him?" Natasha snapped.

"Chill, Natasha," Chase soothed as he pulled the van out onto the road. "You guys are insane. Nothing ever goes right."

Clint winced as his quiver dug sharply into his back. He couldn't hold the baby and take it off at the same time, so he quickly passed the child to Natasha before she could protest. The relief as he removed the offending item was instantaneous, and he stretched his arms out in front of him to loosen the stiff muscles.

Natasha was holding the baby like it might explode at any moment. "Take it back."

"Gimme a sec," Clint muttered, and cracked his neck.

"He's doing well, considering he was just kidnapped," Chase said casually from the driver's seat. "I'm starting to detect a theme here. You sure you don't kidnap for a living?"

"I kill your mother," Natasha said to the baby. "I can kill you too."

The baby laughed and yanked on the loose strand of hair that had fallen from Natasha's bun. She frowned down at him and removed her hair from his grip, then looked back over at Clint with an expression that told him he needed to take the baby back immediately.

He did, bouncing the kid on his knee as Chase swerved a little too fast around a corner. There were no sirens, and Clint felt himself relax a little more as they moved further away from the house.

"You got the drive?" Chase asked, breaking the silence.

Natasha reached into her bra and pulled out a USB stick, twirling it between her fingers. "Of course."

"What's on it?" Clint said, feeling a little left out. It didn't make him happy to realise that they hadn't included him in a part of the mission.

"Information," Natasha said. "People, places."

"The guy who ordered the hit said he'd pay more if we could find anything in the house," Chase explained. "I did a little digging, and the VC had files on files full of blackmail against UN members. I installed a virus on his computer so he would have to backup his data."

Clint blinked, still shocked that Chase could do things like that without actually having access to the computer. "How?"

"Emailed him," Chase laughed. "Most people will download anything if the email address looks legit."

"Stupid," Natasha snorted.

"In all seriousness, we really gotta talk about the earpiece thing," Chase said. Clint groaned and Natasha rolled her eyes, but the older man continued without paying them any attention. "Communication is lacking, and if I'm gonna be forced to work with you then you gotta at least give me that."

_Should I threaten him again? _Natasha signed, and Clint just smiled at her, keeping his hands wrapped firmly around the baby.

Their plans had flown out the window, like usual, but they were all in one piece and doing okay. They just had to drop the baby off and then they would be free to go back to the hotel and go to bed and forget about how things hadn't gone exactly right.

Clint couldn't wait.

* * *

Clint lay awake in the early hours of the morning, staring at the ceiling and trying to relax enough so that he could fall asleep. They had dropped the baby off at the hospital only a couple of hours ago and the three of them had basically collapsed into their beds as soon as they had entered the hotel room, but he hadn't actually been able to fall asleep.

Chase was in a separate room, still handcuffed to his bed because Natasha didn't fully trust him yet. Clint thought he would be fine, especially since they now knew about his girlfriend, but it was just another thing he wasn't going to argue with Natasha about. Besides, he was a little curious about the girlfriend and wouldn't be mad if they had to meet her to make sure Chase didn't run off on them.

He saw Natasha's shadow fall across his bed before he heard her, and shuffled over a little so that she could slip in beside him. He didn't even think about it anymore, sure that he would never fully understand the enigma that was Natasha and her sleeping habits.

"Can't sleep?" he asked softly.

"_Nyet_," Natasha said. "Do you think I am bad?"

"Why?" Clint said.

"I kill wife just… because she is there," Natasha admitted. "She is in way. The baby is orphan now."

"Just like us," Clint murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek. He was more than a little surprised that she let him. "You don't think I'm bad too, for agreeing to it all?"

He had been thinking about it a lot, and couldn't help but remember how easy it had been for Barney to go back to Trick Shot just because the money was better. He didn't want to end up like his brother, but also didn't really know if what they were already doing was actually worse.

"I make you bad," Natasha said, eyes widening in shock, and Clint backtracked quickly to prevent her from moving away.

"You didn't make me anything, Tash," he told her. "I'm basically an adult. I make my own choices, and I tell you when I don't like something. Things are different now. It's getting harder to tell what's wrong."

"I know," Natasha whispered. "Is okay, though?"

"I think we're okay," Clint assured her. "We're doing the best we can. But you gotta tell me about secret side missions, okay?"

"Okay. I don't like to arguing with you," Natasha said, then frowned a little. "_To argue_. We have been doing that."

"I don't really like it either," Clint said carefully. "It's been a tough year, and it's the most time we've ever spent together. I think we're still trying to work out where we stand with each other."

"I stand with you," Natasha said. "Even if you drive me crazy."

"I think you probably drive me crazy more often," Clint laughed. "First you don't get your busted ribs checked out, then you get drugged in a club –"

"Is not my fault," Natasha whined, and shoved his chest a little. "You don't get cold fixed."

"You let an old lady try to poison me," Clint deadpanned, and smiled as Natasha pressed her head into the pillow to try and stifle her giggles. "That drink was rank, Tasha. I thought I was gonna _die_."

"_Ptichiy mozg_," Natasha teased, then leant in until her lips were pressed against his.

Clint didn't freeze. He kissed her back immediately, bringing his hand back to cup her cheek gently. It felt much like it had the first time in his bedroom; soft and sweet, yet strong enough to take his breath away. They kissed slowly, like they had all the time in the world, and Clint supposed that in that moment they did.

They pulled apart just slightly, and even though he didn't want to ruin the moment, Clint knew he had to ask. "You're not doing this just cause –"

"I want to do for a long time," Natasha breathed. "I _miss _this."

"Me too," Clint said, his voice gruff, and pulled her closer for another kiss. He could feel her smiling against his lips.

"I am not good at all these things," she said. "It take me a long time to work out. But you are my happy, Clint."

"You said that once before," he said softly, resting his forehead against hers.

"I know," she admitted. "Sometimes is easier to pretend."

Clint understood what she meant. She had been protecting herself, worried that she would be hurt again. The Red Room conditioning had taken a lot from her, but he hadn't realised how much she had worked through on her own over the past year. Every day she amazed him.

"Three things," she said. "I am not bad. You are not bad. _Tri_, we are doing best we can."

"True, true, and triple true," Clint grinned. "That was an easy one."

"True or false," she continued. "You love me."

This time, he knew it was okay. Natasha hadn't even brought her handcuffs into the bed with her, and she was warm and soft beside him, a completely different person to the one that had snuck into the Vice Chancellor's house hours ago. He was lucky to know her, and even though their plan hadn't really gone right, maybe everything else had.

"Yea," he told her, and pressed a kiss to her nose for good measure. "I love you, Tash."


	40. Chapter Forty

hey guys! this chapter has a lil unintentional self-harm (nothing graphic!) and also mentions some brainwashing so be cautious if you need to :)  
thank you for reviewing, and let me know what you think of this new chapter! i hope you enjoy it! x :)  
ps. there will be translations for the russian at the end!

* * *

**Brooklyn, 2007**

**February **

Natasha stuck her leg out as Clint walked past her, poking her toes into his thigh and turning on her best puppy dog eyes when he glanced at her. He couldn't help but laugh as he leant down to press a kiss to her lips; this was a side of Natasha that only he was lucky enough to see, and he would never get tired of the childish way she sometimes acted when it was just the two of them.

Except, they weren't really alone anymore. Clint pulled away just as Chase emerged from the bathroom and continued into the kitchen as though nothing had happened. They hadn't decided yet if they wanted Chase to know how their relationship had changed, even though they were beginning to trust him more. It was still new and they were taking things one-step at a time, but Clint was willing to go as slowly as possible.

He couldn't hear the conversation between Natasha and Chase from the kitchen. He dumped his bowl in the sink and managed to get a little water from the tap to rinse it before it gave out. When he re-entered the living room, Chase and Natasha were stuck in another staring competition, their favourite way to communicate their dislike for one another.

Clint sighed. "What happened?"

"I don't really agree with the meet and greet situation, for obvious reasons," Chase said without breaking eye contact with Natasha. "You know, because you guys are child assassins and my girlfriend is, like, just a zookeeper."

"We have to meet," Natasha said, raising her chin defiantly. "Or someone will die."

"Clint," Chase said, his voice strained. "Help me out here."

"No one will die," Clint assured, sitting beside Natasha on the couch. "I get that it's weird, okay. The whole thing is weird. We didn't plan for any of this to happen."

"None of your plans actually go to plan," Chase deadpanned. A tear slipped down his cheek and he suddenly blinked, eyes squeezing shut tight. "God damn it."

"I win," Natasha crowed. She turned to Clint and batted her eyelashes, her smile sweeter than normal. "So, we meet girlfriend. Is just coffee, Chase."

"Just coffee," Chase scoffed. "Just coffee with my two new roommates, who are six years younger than me and somehow controlling my life."

Clint did feel a little bad for the guy, because he was right. They had thought that they were doing the right thing by letting Chase stay with them, but it was turning out to be more complicated than they had imagined. Chase usually seemed happy enough to be working with them, until he remembered that he was technically being held against his will.

Clint didn't regret letting him stay with them, because it was better than Natasha's alternative, but he wished they had made it easier for him.

"I'm sorry," Clint heard himself say.

Chase glanced at him in surprise, and he could feel Natasha tense slightly beside him. He held Chase's gaze and offered him a weak smile, hoping to convey what he really wanted to say without having to say it. He liked Chase, and they had actually spent a few nights talking on the roof when Natasha was sleeping. In a way, Chase reminded him of what it was like to have a big brother.

"I wouldn't really kill you," Natasha muttered sullenly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Okay," Chase said after a moment. "I… I'll let Quinn know we'll be there, then."

"Okay," Clint said.

"Okay," Natasha repeated, then stood in one fluid motion and pushed her way past him out of the room.

Clint watched the bedroom door close and smiled to himself. Natasha did like Chase too, even if she never showed it.

"Anything going on between you two?" Chase asked, breaking Clint's train of thought.

Clint shook his head. "Uh, nope?"

"Right," Chase drawled. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Quinn, then dropped down onto the couch beside Clint to wait for Natasha to get ready. "Kinda feels like it."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Clint said. It had only been a little over a month, but they were being much more careful than they had ever been before. Chase had only been living with them for two months, and he definitely didn't know them well enough to be able to sense such subtle changes.

"I've seen a billion different smiles on Nat's face," Chase said carefully, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "I've seen her I'm-high-off-my-face loopy smile, the I'm-gonna-kill-you smile, the smile she reserves specifically for borscht."

"Have you got a point?" Clint snapped, suddenly feeling on edge.

"Last week you gave her a cup of tea. She hadn't asked for it. And she looked at you with…" Chase laughed, running a hand over his face. "It's crazy man. Her smile was _so soft_. Nat is never soft."

Clint wanted to tell him about how soft she was when her armour was peeled back. How she had ticklish spots and liked his funny faces and wanted to go as high as possible on the swings. How soft she was when she held him and how worried she was that she might become the monster they had tried to make her.

A part of him was impressed with Chase for noticing it. He always felt that he was hyper-aware of everything Natasha did around him, but maybe she was comfortable enough around Chase to show him different sides to her. Most likely they were all acts, and the real Natasha was the one only he knew.

"She likes tea," Clint said instead.

Chase laughed loudly. "But does she like tea _that _much?"

Clint's answer died on his lips as Natasha emerged from the bedroom, and he beamed at her instead. She was wearing a long-sleeved sweater dress and black-heeled boots, an outfit that Emily would choose before Natasha herself did. They hadn't really decided how they would introduce themselves to Chase's girlfriend, but it was clear that Natasha was now leaning more towards their covers.

He wanted to tell her she looked cute, so he made sure she was looking at him so he could sign it. _You look cute_.

_It's just a dress_, Natasha replied, and Clint could tell that she wanted to roll her eyes.

_It's nice_, he told her. _Serious. You look really pretty, Tash_.

Natasha held eye contact with him for a second, and he could see that she was a little confused by the compliment. He smiled again, but didn't realise they were still standing in the middle of the living room until Chase cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Time to go," Natasha snapped, scooping her bag off the counter and leading the way out the door.

"Could cut the sexual tension with a knife," Chase muttered as he followed her. "This is whack."

Clint internally groaned and reminded himself to tone it down a little. Just because they trusted Chase now, didn't mean they trustedhim with something like this. He could potentially use it against them and Clint didn't want to deal with that.

He shut the apartment door behind them and double-checked it was locked before heading down the stairs after them. He was excited to meet Quinn, and tried to focus on becoming Henry instead of thinking about the way Natasha's smile _had _been soft when he had given her the tea.

* * *

Quinn was not what Clint had really been expecting. She was short, though still taller than Natasha, and wore her hair in high pigtails. She hugged Natasha as soon as she saw her, and Clint once again found himself holding his breath, hoping that Natasha wouldn't snap the other girl's neck.

"It's so nice to finally meet you!" she exclaimed, and Clint was surprised to hear that she had an English accent. He double-checked his hearing aid just in case, and when Chase noticed he slapped Clint on the shoulder and laughed.

"Quinn's from London, but she moved here to work at the Staten Island Zoo," he explained. "So if you ever want to see a groundhog…"

"I'll get you guys some tickets, okay?" Quinn interrupted, looping her arm through Natasha's and leading her over to a booth. "Have you ever been to the zoo, Emily?"

"When I was younger," Natasha lied easily. "But I haven't been since then."

"I'm gonna change that!" Quinn said. She slid into the booth beside Natasha, and Clint could tell that Natasha didn't like being between the older girl and the wall. Even Chase seemed to notice, because he quickly swapped seats so that Natasha could sit on the end beside Clint.

"Give them a chance to breathe, girl," Chase teased.

Quinn smacked his arm playfully. "I'm excited. You've never had a real place before. Tell me, what's he like to live with."

"Pretty easy, actually," Clint shrugged. "We're kinda messy."

"Henry is messy," Natasha said, and she finally seemed to be relaxing next to him. "But the apartment is falling apart, so."

"Chase mentioned the water is usually cold," Quinn grinned. "Even student accommodation sounds nicer."

They were interrupted by the waitress taking their orders. Natasha had somehow found the biggest chocolate chip cookie Clint had ever seen, and he watched with mild amusement as she tried to figure out the best way to eat it without making a huge mess. He didn't realise Quinn had asked him a question until Chase waved his hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," he said. "I missed that."

"How long have you guys known each other?" she repeated.

"A few years," Clint said casually, taking a sip of his milkshake. Technically, Emily and Henry were twenty-one, and the story they used most often was that they had met in senior year. "She's my best friend, so it made sense to move in together."

"Do your parents care that you left home so young?" Quinn asked. "Mine flipped when I decided to leave and I was older than you."

"My parents died," Natasha said carefully. "In a car accident, so. Henry's the only person I have."

"I'm so sorry, Chase never mentioned that," Quinn said, and turned to glare at the side of Chase's head. "That would be really hard."

"Emily's pretty strong," Chase said. Clint was proud of how quickly and easily he had picked up on their cover stories, because they had realised when they reached the café that they had never actually gone over it with him. "Besides, I keep them in line."

"Barely," Clint joked. "We're all still trying to get used to each other."

"Well, I'm glad you guys chose him," Quinn said. "Not many people give him a chance."

"He's a good guy," Natasha said around a mouthful of cookie, and Clint knew that she meant it. It would probably be the closest she would ever come to admitting how much she liked Chase. "He helps with the dishes."

Quinn and Chase laughed. Clint realised with a start that no matter what happened, they wouldn't be able to use Quinn against Chase. Her personality was contagious, and even Natasha seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.

They were still trying to get used to each other, and Clint knew that it would take a lot longer to get to the point where they were all on the same page. Quinn had definitely made it more complicated, but there was now a small part of Clint that really believed they would all be able to stay friends.

* * *

It happened on the walk home.

They had spent a few hours at the café, and then waved goodbye to Quinn as she caught the bus back to her own apartment. They had decided to walk and enjoy the fresh afternoon air, and Clint was content to listen to Chase ramble about Quinn if it meant he could accidentally brush his fingers against Natasha's.

However, a second later he was sneezing violently as something got caught up his nose. He rubbed his watery eyes and tried to glare at Chase, who was laughing and wiping his own eyes free of tears.

"Shut up," Clint croaked, and sneezed one more time.

"_Gesundheit_," Chase chuckled, and suddenly Natasha stopped walking.

Clint turned back to look at her, feeling icy dread pool in the pit of his stomach at the look on her face. "Tasha?"

Natasha reached out and shoved Chase, ignoring his protests as he stumbled backwards and down an alleyway. Clint jogged after them, trying to stop himself from panicking even as he realised that something was really wrong.

"Woah, Natasha, what the fuck?" Chase cried.

Natasha had him pressed against a wall, knife held to his throat. Clint didn't even think, running towards her and slamming into the side of her before she could slit Chase's throat. She stumbled slightly, then regained her composure and spun to face Clint instead.

Her eyes were blank. Clint didn't understand what was happening but didn't have time to think about it before she was flying at him. He held his own for a minute, until she managed to sweep his feet out from under him and send him crashing heavily onto his side. She left him and went back to Chase, who was standing where she had left him with his mouth agape in shock.

"Natasha!" Clint called, but she continued to ignore him. He wracked his brain as he pushed himself to his knees, trying desperately to think of something that would allow Natasha to recognise him. Unless….

"Natalia!" he tried, and watched in horror as Natasha stopped dead in her tracks, standing ramrod straight as she looked at him. Something had happened to switch Natasha off and Natalia on, and he didn't know what to do to fix it except play along. "Stop."

Natasha watched him stand but didn't say anything. Clint remembered the moment in the clearing, when Ivan had told her not to speak out of turn. His stomach churned as he realised what he would have to do to stall her from killing Chase.

"This isn't your target," Clint said carefully. "You're confused."

"Man, what is happening?" Chase asked, voice pitched in fear. Natasha tensed and Clint waved is hand at Chase, trying to signal for him to shut up. He didn't know what he was doing or what was going on. What if she killed them both?

"I'm your handler," Clint said, trying to convince her. "You answer to me. This is not your target."

"_Da, ser_," Natasha replied in monotone. She sounded so defeated that Clint almost wanted to cry. "_Ya plokhoy_."

"_Da_," Clint said gruffly, even though every inch of his body wanted to assure her that she wasn't bad at all. "I thought you were the sharp end of the spear, Natalia."

The words tasted like acid coming from his mouth. Natasha jolted like she'd been shocked, then dropped to her knees slowly before him. He swallowed bile and tried to think of anything that would get them out of this situation.

"_Izvinite, ser_," she murmured without looking at him. "_Ya sdelayu eto luchshe._"

Chase muttered something, but Clint couldn't hear it over the pounding of his heart. He wracked his brain for anything that he had seen or heard in all of the years that he had known Natasha, but the only thing he kept coming back to were Ivan's documents and all of the training notes.

"Natalia," he said shakily. "_Nad, sleva, rassvet. Strela_."

The words had been written in one of Natasha's training cards, and Clint had spent hours trying to figure out what it meant. He didn't expect anything to happen, but it was the only thing out of place that he could think of, and he was beyond desperate at this point.

Natasha froze, and then suddenly twisted to the side and vomited violently. Clint fell beside her and moved her hair out of her face as she shuddered, her whole body trembling as she dragged her fingers along the pavement.

"Stop," she moaned, and brought her now bloody fingers up to press against her temples. "Stop, stop, stop!"

"Hey, Nat, you're okay," Clint said, pulling her into his side. She struggled for a moment, though he knew it was only because she hadn't realised where she was yet. He held her tight, more afraid that she would run than anything else. Behind them, Chase slid down the wall, head in his hands out of shock.

"Stop it," she snapped, though Clint didn't really know who she was talking to.

"Nat, shhh, it's okay," he told her again. "We're in Bed-Stuy. We're gonna go home, yea? And we're gonna go to bed. You remember where we are?"

"Bed-Stuy," she choked out, then smacked her hand against her head. "Bad!"

Clint caught her wrist before she could do it again, pulling her upright so she was sitting on his lap. "Hey, no, not bad. I think it was a trigger, Nat. Remember we had a list? A long time ago we had a list. I think the word…"

He trailed off and met Chase's panicked gaze. It was becoming clearer that Chase had accidentally triggered Natasha into the robotic killer the Red Room had tried to make her. It was far more serious then the triggers she had had as kids, and Clint was slowly beginning to realise that there were parts of Natasha that _had _been successfully brainwashed.

"A list," she mumbled, going slack in his arms. "Once upon a time…"

"No," Clint said firmly. He had only seen Snow White once, when they were kids, but he knew that the movie had been used as a propaganda tool in the Red Room. "No, our list. Not a script."

"Okay," Natasha said. Then, she wriggled her free hand up to grab a fistful of hair and yanked on it, hard. "Stop it."

Clint grabbed that wrist too, pinning her arms against her chest. "We don't hurt ourselves. It's okay, Nat. We're gonna go home and work it out. We're okay."

Natasha didn't reply. Clint couldn't even begin to understand what she would be thinking, and wasn't even sure if she was fully present with them in the moment. He was just glad that they had gone into the alleyway, because if they had remained on the street they would have had a lot of explaining to do.

"You okay?" he asked Chase as the older man came to stand by them.

"I'm still alive, right?" he tried to joke, but the smile fell from his face quickly. "What was that, man? That's not normal."

"I will tell you," Clint said, smoothing some of Natasha's sweaty hair off her forehead. "Not now. We gotta get her home."

Chase could have left them there. Clint wanted to say something more, but the words were stuck somewhere deep inside him. He couldn't believe what Natasha had been about to do. He couldn't believe what he had almost made her do. He felt sick from adrenaline and fear. He didn't know if they would come out of this one whole.

"Okay," Chase said after a moment. "Let's get her home."

* * *

Ya plokhoy = I'm bad

Ya sdelayu eto luchshe = I'll make it better

Nad, sleva, rassvet. Strela = Above. Left. Daybreak. Arrow


	41. Chapter Forty One

hey guys! a lil warning for talks of brainwashing, dubious memories and unintentional self-harm! please avoid if that's not right for you :) p.s, i promise i'll give poor nat a break soon :(

hope you guys enjoy! let me know down below x

* * *

Between the two of them, they managed to get Natasha back into the apartment without much drama. Clint had held her hand as they walked, half-pulling her along the sidewalk beside him as Chase took the lead. She was scarily compliant, and hadn't spoken another word since the alleyway. Clint was worried, but tried not to let it show as he helped her up the stairs.

Once inside, Natasha refused to move past the living room. Clint tried talking her through it, but it was like her body had seized up and her legs refused to cooperate. She stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the wall as Clint tugged gently on her arm.

"Does this normally happen?" Chase asked softly, as though he were afraid that talking too loud would cause something to go wrong.

"I don't…" Clint started to say, bobbing his head to try and get in Natasha's line of sight. "I don't know. It's not… we were just kids last time. It was different."

Chase watched them for a moment, frowning. "I'm gonna have a shower."

"Okay," Clint whispered. He tried to calm himself down, and let Natasha's hand fall back to her side as he took a step back. "Okay."

Clint followed behind Chase to the bedroom, collecting comfier clothes for Natasha whilst Chase entered the bathroom. He looked at her bed to see if there was anything there that might help, but her personal possessions were scarce. He took the clothes and went back out to her, a little nervous to leave her on her own for too long.

She hadn't moved, but she did turn her head to watch him walk over. Clint smiled, trying to hide his nerves and pretend that he felt fine. He didn't know what to do or what to say. When they were kids it had been easier; Natasha would switch off for a minute, and all Clint had to do was regain her attention or distract her. That clearly hadn't worked this time, though.

"Time to get changed," Clint said as confidently as he could. He knew they only had a limited amount of time while Chase was in the shower, so when Natasha didn't move he dropped the new clothes and reached tentatively towards her. "Arms up."

She raised her arms above her head, gaze flicking back to the wall. Clint gathered up the bottom of the dress and pulled it over her head as smoothly as he could. She kept her arms up, back straight as he unclasped her bra. He tried to get the straps off her shoulders but couldn't quite get it over with her arms still in the air.

"Arms down," he said gently, and she let them fall back to her side.

He quickly removed her bra and replaced it with one of his shirts. Then, he moved her hand to hold his shoulder so she could balance as he took her boots off. Getting her yoga pants on was a little difficult when she didn't really help him, but finally she was dressed and Clint could coax her over to the couch.

She sat beside him, feet curled beneath her and arms wrapped around her knees. Clint rubbed his hands over his thighs, feeling a little nervous. He almost wished that Chase were sitting with them so that he could say something to fill the silence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked eventually. It wasn't really what he wanted to say, but he needed to say _something_.

Natasha shrugged. It was a reaction, at least. Clint gave her another minute to add anything before he spoke again.

"Do you understand what happened?"

"I fail mission," she said flatly.

"There was no mission," Clint told her. "There was a trigger word. It made you think you were supposed to be on a mission, but it was all fake, okay? Do you know where you are?"

"Bed-Stuy" Natasha replied easily.

Clint wasn't convinced that she actually knew where she was. He had told her where they were earlier, and a part of him thought that maybe she was only repeating it because she knew it was what he wanted to hear.

"Where?" he pressed.

Natasha's eyes moved around the room, lingering on the clothes that had been left on the floor. She slowly dragged her nails down her right arm and then up again, repeating the motion as though she didn't even realise she was doing it.

"Home," she said carefully. "How did I get here?"

"We walked," Clint explained. He wanted to stop her from hurting herself, but it didn't seem like she was pressing against her skin too hard and he didn't want to startle her. "Me, you, and Chase. We met Quinn earlier, and you ate a cookie."

"I was in Morocco," Natasha said, and Clint felt his blood turn to ice at her words. "I kill whole family for one document."

"When was that?" Clint said softly, dreading her answer even though he thought he knew what it would be.

"When…" Natasha trailed off, turning her head to stare at the dark TV screen. "2005. There was calendar in safe house."

Clint took a deep breath and leant back against the couch cushions. His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest, but he knew he needed to stay calm. The trigger word had obviously affected her far more severely than Clint had previously realised.

He suspected that the last time she had heard it was sometime in the six months that Ivan had her in Russia. The part of her brain that was wired to respond to the word had clearly been switched off since her last mission; he assumed that they would use the word when they needed the ruthless assassin, and then use the deactivation words when they were finished with her. It was the only thing he could think of to explain why she was confused about where she was.

"It's 2007 now," he said carefully, watching her for a reaction.

She blinked. "Okay."

"Do you remember the things you've done since then?" he continued.

Natasha shrugged again, nails pressing hard into the crook of her elbow. "What I know is not always real."

Clint sighed. "I don't… I don't think I understand it this time, Tash."

"I have lots of missing pieces," she said. "I am somewhere and then I am somewhere else. I not always know how I get there."

"You think you came from Morocco?" Clint asked. "Or do you… do you remember what we did today?"

Natasha's nails were pressing so hard into her skin that Clint could make out blooms of red pricking up around her already bloodied fingers. He wanted desperately to pull her hands away and disinfect the wounds she had given herself from dragging her hands on the concrete.

"_Nyet_," she said quietly. "Is like waking up after Morocco, but I have… I remember this place. Not always where it fit. I remember mission."

"Did you think you needed to kill Chase?" Clint said. "Was that your mission?"

"Was to kill _you,_" Natasha admitted, and began scratching her arm much faster than she had been before, leaving streaks of blood over the pale skin. "He say word, I know I need to kill you. I don't want to. I need him to stop so I will stop."

"Okay," Clint whispered, and tentatively reached out to stop her hand. She let him, but he could feel just how tense she was. "You don't need to kill anyone."

"I kill baby in Morocco," Natasha said, and her whole body started shaking fiercely. She yanked her hand away from him so she could sign instead. _A whole family, for one piece of paper. I met Ivan at the safe house, like he told me. I was good. He said the words and I woke up and he told me we were going to America to kill you. _

"He didn't say the trigger word," Clint said, realisation beginning to dawn on him as he listened to Natasha. "When you came back, he didn't say the word. He… wanted you to know you were doing it."

_Yes_, Natasha signed. _It's like being in the back seat of my brain. When Chase said it I could remember you were my last mission, but this time I had one hand on the wheel._

Clint had known that Ivan was cruel, but he hadn't realised just how much the man had tormented Natasha. She hadn't reacted well when Clint had said the deactivation words; he didn't want to imagine how much she had suffered on her own after Ivan had said them after a mission. From the way she was shaking now, he could tell that the comedown was hard.

"You were just doing what you were told," Clint said gently. "The baby… you didn't have any control over that, Tash."

"But I kill her," Natasha snapped. "Control or no control. I still kill her."

"They wired your brain to react to a word," Clint argued, feeling disgust pool deep in his stomach. "They tortured you and used you to do their dirty work without caring if you got hurt. You're brain is so confused about what's happening because they've picked it apart and made you into something you're not."

"I am," Natasha stressed, eyes wild. "I am what they want. I let them take brain. I let them make me sleep and do bad things and then I wake up when they tell me and I _remember_. Sometimes is too hard so I let them take it away. I don't want to remember."

"I know," Clint soothed, and reached out for her again. "I know you don't want to remember and I know it's confusing. But you didn't let them do anything. You had _no choice_. It's okay to be sad about that."

He didn't know if it was the right thing to say, but Natasha was trembling so violently it looked like she might snap in half. She was holding back, he could tell; even though she was generally guarded with her emotions, Clint could usually get her to let her walls down. This time he hadn't quite succeeded, and he was worried that repressing what had happened earlier would only make things worse in the long run.

"It's okay to be sad about what they made you do," he continued softly. "And it's okay to be angry, too. All of these things aren't bad and I'm not gonna use it against you like they did. Today you heard a word that you hadn't in a long time and it messed you up for a bit, but we got you back and now you're safe. I promise, Tash."

Natasha stared at him, breathing deeply. Her right arm was covered with long red lines and pricks of blood around the soft skin of her inner elbow. Clint kept his hand stretched out to her, keeping his face open and relaxed in hopes that she wouldn't run. He was still a little confused himself, but didn't let it show in his expression.

She shuffled over carefully, ignoring Clint's hand in favour of sitting tentatively on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her carefully as she curled into a small ball and brought her left hand up to clutch the top of his shirt. Her mangled right arm lay in her lap; he wanted to bandage it, but also didn't want to disturb her.

Clint rubbed his hand over her bony spine, angling his head so that he could see her face. She had her eyes closed and wasn't crying; he figured that letting her sleep wouldn't hurt, so gently rocked them until her grip on his shirt loosened and her head felt heavy against his chest.

Only then did Clint let himself relax. He couldn't reach the remote, though he wasn't sure he even wanted to watch anything. He simultaneously felt drained of energy and wide-awake with rage. He didn't understand how Natasha's timeline of events could make sense, or how her memories even fit in with each other.

Ivan was still controlling her from the grave. Clint wanted to put an arrow through his neck all over again. Instead, he thought about the moment he had until his rage simmered down into frustration.

* * *

It was almost an hour later when Chase finally joined them. Natasha was well and truly asleep, and didn't even stir when the older man sat beside Clint on the couch. He flicked the TV on and Clint's eyes momentarily burned from the change in light. On the screen, Phoebe told Ross to find her a new doctor before she gave birth.

"Everything good?" Chase asked after a moment.

Clint wanted to shrug but couldn't without jostling Natasha. "Depends on your definition of good."

"Good as in, she's not gonna kill me anymore," Chase deadpanned.

"Yea, we're good then," Clint answered with a smirk. "Another death threat avoided, one point to Chase."

"Wasn't exactly a threat, man," Chase grimaced. "She had a knife to my throat."

Clint's grin died on his lips. "Yea. About that."

They watched as Monica and Chandler argued in the waiting room. Clint didn't know how to start the conversation. Chase deserved to know the truth, especially since he could have left multiple times throughout the day and Clint wouldn't have stopped him.

"You could've run," Clint started. "You could be long gone by now."

"I don't know, man," Chase said sheepishly, running a hand through his thick hair. "I mean, regardless of how this arrangement started, it's a roof over my head and money I can put towards getting a place with Quinn, or whatever. It could be worse, right?"

Clint had never thought of it like that before. They had hung out together without Natasha, yet Clint had always felt like he was just an annoyance to the older man. He had always assumed that Chase only dealt with them because they had forced him to, but maybe he actually considered them tentative friends.

"Right," Clint muttered. Natasha twitched a little on his lap, and Clint automatically began rubbing her back again.

Chase watched them carefully. "Is she okay?"

"When she was a kid…" Clint began, trying to think of how he could word it. "She was taken to this academy where they tortured her and trained her to be a spy. But one of the trainers really liked her… he brought her to America so he could…"

Clint trailed off, fighting down the anger the burned hot through his veins again. If he had known this was where they would be nearly ten years later, he would have taken Natasha's hand that first day and never looked back.

"What the fuck?" Chase muttered. "That's…"

"So that's when I met her," Clint interrupted. "We grew up together, but he would take her back to Russia sometimes and keep training her in America. They brainwashed her. I don't understand it or, or know how they did it, but. Sometimes she isn't in control."

"Holy shit," Chase said. "She was raised to be an assassin? What the hell, dude. This isn't real life."

"There's a lot of trauma that she doesn't know how to deal with," Clint said softly. "She was taught that emotions were weak. I'm trying to help but then this happens and we're back to square one."

Chase didn't say anything for a minute, and Clint turned his attention back to the TV in time to see Phoebe give birth to the triplets. He let the sounds and colours calm him down as he shifted his legs a little, trying to get some feeling back into them.

"I can try to help too," Chase said. "I dunno how. Maybe I can try and find this place, and we can bring them to their knees so they can't do it again. She was just a little girl."

Clint didn't tell Chase that they had tried unsuccessfully once before. It wasn't the time for it, and he was just happy that Chase had their back despite everything they had put him through. Maybe with his help they would actually be able to do something.

Tomorrow he would clean Natasha's arm and fingers, wrap the wounds and make her peanut butter toast. For now, Clint was content to close his eyes, safe in the knowledge that the three of them were together and okay.


	42. Chapter Forty Two

hey guys! another new character, but this one is pretty cute :) also, i'm trying to portray nat's trauma in this fic as something that is like another layer to her character and i didn't want it to just be like, "they had bad things happen but they got over it" bc i think there's a lot of room for development if you explore these issues! so it will keep cropping up throughout the fic and the next one in the series, just fyi!

anyway thank you for your support and i hope you enjoy this lil update! THANK YOU x

* * *

Chase stood in front of the paper they had taped across the wall, finger pressing against one of the many red question marks that marked the line they had graphed. "So we don't know what happened for a whole month between Prague and Libya?"

Natasha glanced over at him from where she sat on the couch. "_Nyet_. Is July?"

"Yea," Chase called back. "May was Russia, June was mostly Central Europe. You did something in July then popped up in Libya at the start of August."

"What was in Libya?" Clint asked. He gently dabbed antiseptic ointment onto Natasha's shredded fingertips, then re-covered them with Band-Aids.

"What is saying?" Natasha mused, watching Clint with calculating eyes. Even though he knew the ointment would be stinging, she hadn't flinched once. "Mixing bowl?"

"Stirring the pot," Clint replied. "You went all the way to Libya to push some buttons?"

"Arms dealer buttons," Natasha said. "Red Room wants weapons but not from Libya."

"What's the point then?" Clint said, frowning at her.

Natasha shrugged. "You think I know?"

Clint rolled his eyes and pulled Natasha's arm towards him so that he could look at her inner elbow. Chase had moved from the question mark to the other end of the paper, and was writing something down in pencil.

They had spent a whole day creating giant timelines that they taped along the wall in the living room; they had written Clint's version of events on one half, and then Natasha's on the other. So far, it only spanned from 2005 and onwards, but they had already realised that Natasha's version of events didn't seem like it could possibly be real.

Clint's timeline was linear, and even though he had no idea what had really happened to Natasha throughout the majority of 2005, he knew that her timeline shouldn't look the way it did. There were too many question marks, chunks of time that she simply couldn't remember, and even when she did remember it often didn't make sense.

He had been horrified to realise that she hadn't even remembered their first year on the run together the way that he did. She had no idea how they had gotten from Brooklyn to Italy, only remembering the fact that they had dismantled a weapons smuggling ring while they were there. It was concerning, and Clint wished they could have scans done to see exactly what they were up against.

"We also haven't accounted for September and October," Chase mused. "I'm gonna do some digging, see if I can find you anywhere around Africa first before moving back through Europe."

"Start of November is Morocco," Natasha said. "Then America. I think… I have to go back to Russia. I go back all the time."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You think you spent more time in Russia?"

"I _know_," Natasha huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "I go back after some missions and then…"

Clint didn't like the look of the scratch marks on Natasha's inner elbow. He swiped the antiseptic ointment over the warm flesh, then pinched it between his fingers until a slightly discoloured liquid pooled around the crescent shaped wounds she had left with her fingernails.

"I dance!" Natasha declared, ignoring Clint's prodding. "I am on stage in September. Is Sleeping Beauty."

Clint looked up to meet Chase's gaze and shrugged. Chase turned back to the paper and wrote it down on Natasha's timeline, followed by five big red question marks. They took everything Natasha said with a grain of salt these days.

"I'll look into it," Chase said. He came over to the couch and sat beside Natasha, peering at her arm in disgust. "That shit's nasty man."

"Is sore," Natasha whimpered, batting her eyelashes. "Ow."

"You're terrible," Chase laughed, elbowing her in the side. "Get it checked out like a normal person."

"Clint is my doctor," Natasha said seriously.

"I have no medical knowledge," Clint answered. "I just try to keep it clean."

He reached for another bandage in the first aid kit, groaning when he realised they had used it all already. He looked back at her elbow, trying to decide if it would be a good idea to leave it unwrapped overnight yet. He didn't want to say it was infected and make it real, even though he was pretty sure it _was _infected.

"Guess I'll go get dinner then," he said, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "What's everyone having?"

"What can we afford?" Chase joked.

Clint thumbed through the couple of dollars they had left in their cash jar. It didn't look like much, but would probably cover a pizza. He pocketed the notes and loose change and grabbed his coat on the way out the door. Hopefully there would be enough for some more bandages too; otherwise, he would be back to slipping things into his pockets when no one was looking.

* * *

Clint held the pizza box carefully as he made his way back towards the apartment block. He had a box of bandages in one pocket and a few chocolate bars in the other; he had realised once he reached the store that there would be nowhere near enough money for both dinner and supplies, and so since he already needed to steal he figured the extra candy wouldn't hurt.

The air was cool, and Clint was actually enjoying walking out on his own. It wasn't often that he had a chance to just enjoy the breeze on his face and the hustle of the world around him. He didn't always like to be around other people, but it felt _normal_ and almost like he was a kid again.

He jumped back as someone burst out of an alleyway and ran past him, barely hanging onto the pizza box as he narrowly avoided being hit. He cursed under his breath and glanced behind him for any signs that the person needed help, but they were long gone.

Clint squinted down the alley next, feeling unease pool in his stomach. It had only been a few days ago that he had been pulling Natasha out of her head in an alley just like this one. He cautiously took a step off the street and into the mouth of the alley, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he continued in.

He didn't really understand why he kept walking. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he just wanted to see what had caused that person to run out of there so quickly. He didn't have his bow with him, only a knife that Natasha made him carry everywhere.

Something moved by a dumpster and Clint automatically went on the defensive, reaching for the knife but not willing to let go of the pizza box yet. It moved again, down by the ground, so he crouched and shuffled over. If Natasha were here he knew she would lecture him on being too risky, but he was so _curious_ and he was almost at the dumpster anyway, and he hadn't dropped the pizza box yet and –

"Oh," he said out loud, and quickly put his knife away. He blinked to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Oh. Okay."

There was a tiny puppy curled against the side of the dumpster. Clint could see in the dim light that it had a wound on its face, near its eye, and looked emaciated. It was yellow and had floppy ears, and Clint almost died at the sight of its little tail wagging despite how scared it was.

"Hey, bud," he cooed, and held out his hand slowly. The puppy initially flinched away, then reconsidered and slowly snuffled over until it could lick at Clint's fingers. "Good puppy. Did that mean person leave you here?"

Clint bristled at the thought but shoved his anger aside, instead reaching blindly into the pizza box to pull out a slice for the puppy. He took a bite first himself, then offered the rest to the small dog and sat back to watch it eat. The puppy was starving and ate the pizza quickly, immediately trotting over to Clint and sniffing around for more.

"Oh boy," Clint said as he realised there was no way he could leave the puppy there. He gently picked it up and stood, holding him in one hand and the pizza box in the other. The fur was soft, and the puppy fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. "This is bad."

* * *

When Clint walked in the front door with a squirmy puppy in one hand, he expected it to be the weirdest thing to happen that night. He was not prepared to see Chase and Natasha sitting in the living room with bright green facemasks smeared over their skin.

"Don't say a word," Chase said as soon as the door closed behind Clint. "She can't put on her own damn facemask because of her fucked up fingers so next thing I know, _I'm_ putting it on. I don't even know how she got me to do it. Or why I'm wearing one too."

"I am convincing," Natasha teased, but the smile fell from her face when she finally noticed Clint. "What is that?"

"This looks bad," Clint said, and held out the pizza box. "It's not really though."

Chase stomped over and took the pizza, opening the box to reveal several missing slices. "What the hell, man?"

"Pizza dog was hungry," Clint defended, and held the puppy up for him to see. Now that they were inside and it was lighter, Clint could see that the puppy's wounded eye was completely shut and bloodied. "C'mon, you think I could just leave him in the dumpster?"

"You found in dumpster?" Natasha asked, also coming over to look at the dog. "Is filthy, Clint."

"Nat, look at him," Clint said. "Look at his face. Someone left him there and he's hurt. Who would do that to a puppy?"

Natasha pursed her lips. Chase chewed on a slice of pizza, staring at the puppy with a look of concentration. Clint rubbed the puppy's ears, then bent his head down to press kisses to its head. When he looked back up Natasha had a look on her face that told him he wouldn't be kissing _her _any time soon.

"I'll take care of him," Clint continued. "I'll train him and everything."

"Can you even keep dogs here?" Chase asked, and Clint had to stifle his laugh at the absurdity of Chase actually having a facemask on.

"Mrs Timms has dogs," Natasha replied before he could. "Is going to be expensive. Look at eye."

"I know," Clint groaned. "I thought of that, but I mean… We should have enough to cover the vet bills. I don't know, we can pick up extra jobs…"

"We just spent basically all of our savings," Chase said.

"Yea, on your new tech and Tasha's safe house in Washington," Clint countered.

"Practical purchases," Natasha said, and Clint rolled his eyes.

"Okay, yea, _practical_. But I haven't spent any of it. Plus, this isn't nearly as expensive. And he's a _puppy_."

The puppy licked at Clint's fingers, ears perking up just a little as Chase reached for another slice of pizza. Clint felt like his heart was about to race out of his chest because he was already obsessed with the tiny dog and he didn't really know what he would do if they said no.

"What if we are in different country?" Natasha asked eventually.

Clint felt his hopes lift a little. "He can stay with Mrs Timms, or we take him to a kennel or something."

"What if we die?" she pressed, one green eyebrow raised. The facemask cracked around her eyes, making her look older.

"Then we die and hope that Chase didn't die too," he answered, not breaking eye contact with her.

The corner of Natasha's lips curled up just slightly. "Okay."

"'Kay," Clint echoed, and let out a whoosh of air.

"God damn," Chase cried, and turned to head back to the living room with the pizza box. "Right. Imma eat this pizza and wash this off my face, then I'm going to bed while you children deal with that."

Clint didn't care. He scratched the puppy's ears and watched in excitement as Natasha grabbed her own coat and bag, checking that their credit card was in there before making her way back over to him.

"Let's go to vet," she said, and rolled her eyes as Clint whooped. "You will train him."

"Of course," Clint gushed, and held the puppy up to his face. "You hear that lil guy? You're so lucky that Tasha loves you."

"I don't love," Natasha scoffed. "I don't even like."

"Don't listen to her," Clint mock-whispered, laughing as she swatted at his arm. "You're a lucky dog, pizza dog."

"Hurry up!" Natasha called, and Clint didn't need to be told twice. He completely forgot about the bandages and the chocolate and everything they had been working on that afternoon; all he cared about now was the small dog in his hands and the smile that had lit up Natasha's eyes for the first time in days.

* * *

Natasha rested her head on Clint's chest, watching him with unreadable eyes. He stroked his hand down her spine, fingers ghosting over the bumps until he reached her lower back. He rubbed gently, finding another knot almost too easily.

"What're you thinking?" he asked softly, almost not wanting to break their comfortable silence.

"We spend all of money on dog," Natasha whispered. "One-eyed dog."

"Lucky dog," Clint corrected. "We did good, huh?"

The tiny puppy had had the damaged eye removed, and had to spend a few more days at the vets to recover and gain weight. Clint had immediately applied to adopt the puppy, and after leaving Lucky at the vets they had found a Walmart and spent all of their remaining cash on supplies.

It had been nice to shop for something that wasn't new spy gear or weapons. Natasha had never been inside a Walmart before, so they spent a lot of time just wandering and finding as many ridiculous things that they could. They had bought a bed for Lucky, as well as a new collar and a huge assortment of toys. Clint couldn't quite believe it was real, but he now officially owned his very own dog.

"I guess," Natasha said. She traced a pattern with one of her bandaged fingers on his bare chest; the feeling of it tickled all the way down to his toes. "You think he will like us?"

"I think he'll love us," Clint replied. "He's just a little puppy. He's gonna like anyone who gives him enough attention."

"He smells" Natasha muttered. "We have no money."

"No, but we _do_ have a house in Washington and a dog, so."

Natasha pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on the flesh softly. Clint rolled over and pulled her into his arms properly, so that she was half laying on top of him and he could feel the rise and fall of her chest. He wouldn't call her expression worried, but he knew her too well to dismiss it as nothing.

"Something up, Tasha?" he murmured.

"Nothing," she said, and he believed her. "Do you think brain is broken? _My_ brain?"

Clint took a deep breath. "I think there might be something wrong with some of the things you remember. There could be some… damage, or something. I don't think it's broken though."

"Feels like it," Natasha mumbled. "You think I am crazy?"

"You've always been crazy," Clint joked, and she pressed her chin into his chest plate, hard. "Ow, cut it out."

"Only you find lost dog," Natasha said, changing the subject easily.

"What can I say," Clint said. "Finding lost things is my gift."

Natasha lifted one heavy hand just so she could sign, _whatever_. Then, she laid her head down flat on his chest, curling an arm up so she could stroke the side of his face.

In the dark, with the blanket over them, Clint felt like nothing could ever touch them. It was nice and comforting and for the first time in a long time, Clint felt like he was home. He kissed the top of Natasha's head and started to rub her back again, trying to lull her to sleep so he could have a few minutes to sit with the feeling of contentment that enveloped him.

"You better wash mouth out after kissing dog," Natasha said, her voice even more gravelly than usual, and Clint chuckled softly. He kissed her head again, holding his breath as he waited to see her reaction.

Despite everything she had forgotten or was confused about, there were some things that were just so quintessentially Natasha that Clint didn't think they would ever be able to take it from her. Right on cue, she turned her head so she could press a soft, sleepy kiss to his lips, the same way she used to years ago.

Clint didn't stop smiling until long after he was asleep.

* * *

(i keep forgetting to say this omg)  
ps. when nat speaks in broken english, imagine that's her russian accent. when she speaks in complete english sentences, she's 100% using her american accent. i like to think the two are interchangeable for her but she prefers to keep her authentic voice when around those she trusts (and especially around clint w )


	43. Chapter Forty Three

hey guys! a lil warning for gunshot wounds and general bloodiness so if that's not your thing, skip the last half of this chapter!

THANK YOU SO MUCH for the kind reviews and i'm glad you all loved the inclusion of lucky :) hope you enjoy this chapter too! xx

* * *

**March**

Lucky tore around the corner, slipping on the floorboards and sliding on his stomach into the living room. Clint was seconds behind him, diving for the dog before he could crawl under the coffee table and hide. Lucky changed tactics though, jumping over Natasha as she stretched and instead bounding over to find safety with Chase on the couch.

"Give it back," Clint panted, stepping over Natasha as well. "Lucky, no. Bad dog."

"You sound so mad," Chase deadpanned, scooping the puppy up to hold him Lion King style in the air. "You gotta be firm."

"Look at his face. It's impossible to be mad at that face, okay."

Natasha twisted around to see what Lucky had stolen this time. "Hey, is my makeup brush!"

"The expensive one," Chase commented and passed the puppy to Clint. "You know. The one we had to go to five stores to find in the _middle_ of a mission?"

"Is worth it," Natasha shrugged. She accepted the slightly slobbery brush from Clint and scowled up at Lucky. "You are menace."

Lucky wagged his tail. It had been a month since Clint had found the runty puppy and in that time he had already doubled in size. He had adjusted well to having his eye removed, but still often crashed into things or hit corners when he was going too fast. Clint didn't think there would ever be another dog as good as Lucky; even Natasha seemed to have moved on from outright disgust and now tolerated his antics.

They were going to have to leave him for the first time when they travelled to New Mexico for their next hit. Clint wasn't looking forward to it. He didn't really trust anyone to look after the puppy properly, especially since Lucky was so energetic, and he was also worried that something might go wrong and they wouldn't be actually come back.

Natasha seemed to know what he was thinking, and reached out to poke his thigh. "Will be okay. Stupid dog will still be here."

Clint covered Lucky's ears. "Hey, no name-calling! He's a baby and it sets a bad example."

Natasha rolled her eyes and stood up, pulling her long hair out of its bun and stepping around him to go into the bedroom. "Whatever. I am going to bed."

"Night!" Chase called. "Don't forget we're bright and early tomorrow."

Natasha shut the door behind her without answering. Lucky whined and wiggled out of Clint's arms, running over to the bedroom and scratching at the door. Clint sighed and walked over to let him in, only opening the door a crack so he could slip through without Natasha immediately noticing him. Lucky was obsessed with Natasha, even though she didn't really give him much attention.

Clint returned to the couch and stretched his legs out on the coffee table, letting his head drop back against the pillow with a sigh. The living room light had blown, and the heating still wasn't working after four months, but it was home and for the first time in a long time, he didn't want to leave.

"So," Chase said, turning the volume on the TV down a little. "How's Red?"

Clint glanced towards the bedroom, wondering if Natasha would be able to hear them. Usually they had these kinds of conversations on the roof, or sitting out on the fire escape, but Clint was too tired to move.

"Better today," Clint answered. "Probably a six star rating. She wanted to stab a guy in McDonald's but to be fair, he was being rude."

Chase laughed. "One homicidal tendency a day equals what? Nine stars? You're not telling me something."

"We got back and she stood here for a while just… not recognising anything," Clint said, shrugging his shoulders. "Then she came back and refused to eat anything. She just wanted to go running, so we did."

Clint had followed Natasha around the block more times than he could count, his sides aching as she kept pushing to go further. He wasn't unfit by any means, but Natasha had been running like she could do it forever. They had spent nearly two hours outside running laps, until Natasha had finally stopped and they had stumbled home, tired and sweaty.

They had shared a shower so that neither of them missed out on hot water, but they had been too exhausted to even acknowledge that it was the first time they had been fully naked with each other. Afterwards, Clint had brushed Natasha's hair and their afternoon had returned mostly to normal.

Except Clint hadn't been able to shake the uncomfortable feeling from his skin. He supposed it had something to do with Natasha's sudden mood change, even if they had been monitoring it for the past few weeks and knew that she was prone to moments like this. He didn't know if it also had to do with the fact that he was so unwilling to leave Lucky behind, but he felt uneasy.

"Running," Chase stated. "You went running."

"Yea," Clint sighed. "So not a great day, but also not a bad day. I think she's getting better, personally."

"Yesterday was a three," Chase said. "That's not really great."

"Today was an improvement though," Clint countered, and Chase laughed.

"Okay, you got me there. Things could always be worse, right?"

"Right," Clint said, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'm gonna call it a night. Sit rep done?"

"Roger that," Chase replied, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll see you in the morning for dog drop at 8am sharp."

Clint rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the couch, trudging over to the bedroom. Natasha was in his bed, hand up above her head and blanket pooled around her waist. Clint crept into the bathroom to brush his teeth, stubbing his toe on the way back and having to hop the rest of the way to bed.

He threw his shirt onto Natasha's unoccupied bed, which had been slowly consumed by their dirty laundry. He was about to crawl over Natasha to get to the small section of bed she had left for him when he suddenly realised that Lucky was curled against Natasha's stomach, wagging his tail softly as he looked up at Clint.

"Hey buddy," Clint said softly, reaching to scoop the puppy out of the way so he didn't squish him when he got into the bed. "Looks like Tasha does love you, huh?"

Lucky yawned and let himself be put down at the end of the bed, stretching out and immediately falling back asleep by Natasha's feet. Clint pulled himself over Natasha and settled at her side with his back to the wall, smiling softly to himself at how utterly peaceful her face looked.

He pulled the blankets up around them and gently eased Natasha's heavy arm back down to her side. She let out a deep breath and curled herself a little tighter, one hand coming up to rest against her cheek.

"_Pora spat'_" she mumbled sleepily.

"Sure is hun," Clint murmured, the nickname slipping out without him intending it to. "Let's have a nice sleep, okay?"

"Hmm," Natasha hummed.

Clint pulled her other wrist towards him and held it gently, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin. "Love you, Tasha."

She didn't answer, already asleep again, so Clint reached up to take his hearing aids out. He fell asleep watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, thankful that they had made it through another day relatively unscathed.

Clint glowered at the guard sitting by his feet, keeping his arrow trained on his shoulder while he waited for Natasha to grab the USB their client had asked for. He still wasn't sold on their mission, even though they were now more than halfway through with it.

"How's it going, Widow?" Clint asked, and he heard Natasha's soft grunt in his ear as she obviously encountered yet another guard. "Okay, copy that."

Even though he had complained about it a little, Chase's new earpieces were actually really cool. Clint could _hear_ what Chase and Natasha were saying as clearly as if they had spoken it directly into his ear, which he supposed they were in a way. It didn't change the way he heard the rest of the world, which kind of sucked, but he was grateful that he could at least be included now.

"You might wanna hurry, Red," Chase said. "We got an unknown vehicle entering the compound."

"What?" Natasha hissed. "What you mean?"

"I mean, it's time to get out," Chase said, and Clint could hear how flustered he was. Something had gone wrong. "Get the USB and haul ass, okay?"

Clint glanced back at the guard, considering what to do. He relaxed his arms, feeling the tension leave his shoulder immediately, and then swung back and hit the guard on the side of the head with his bow, instantly knocking him out.

"ETA for rendezvous point?" Clint asked, taking the car keys from the guard's pocket and tossing them as far away as he could. He refolded his bow and held it by his side, moving back along the edge of the building towards where they were supposed to meet.

"Two minutes," Natasha said, and her voice sounded a little more strained than it had before.

Clint frowned and rounded the corner, stepping over the unconscious forms of several more guards that he had already taken down. The compound they were in was complex, and their target had been smack bang in the centre of it all, but they had found him easy enough and dealt with him in a matter of seconds. Finding the elusive USB was another story, though.

"Right, well, I'm here –" Clint was suddenly cut off by the sound of something loud, a kind of pop that made his ears ring, and then there was a red hot flash of pain through his shoulder that momentarily knocked him to his knees.

He looked up, dazed, to see a man in a uniform approaching him with a drawn gun. He tried to reach for his bow but his left arm wouldn't work, and it vaguely occurred to him that the man wasn't wearing the same uniform as the rest of the guards in the compound. He moved to stand, swaying in place slightly as the pain washed over him in another red-hot wave.

There was another loud sound behind him, and he watched as if in slow motion as the man fell to the ground with a perfectly aimed bullet hole on his forehead. There was another uniform person behind him, and they too fell before Clint could even blink.

"Clint!" Natasha cried, skidding to the ground beside him and pulling him around to face her. He hissed in pain and watched her eyes widen, though whether it was with shock or fear he couldn't quite tell. "Clint, talk to me."

"Just my shoulder," he said gruffly, wincing as Natasha pressed her hands against the wound. "S'not too serious."

"Chase, we need van now," Natasha said, one sticky red hand pressed against her earpiece. Clint wanted to tell her not to get her hair dirty but his tongue felt too heavy. "We need van right now."

"Tash, m'fine," he insisted.

"We go," Natasha said, and without waiting yanked him up to his feet. The world span around him, and the pain was strong enough to nearly make him double in half again, but Natasha continued to drag him away until she was all but throwing him through the door of the van.

Chase was speeding away before the door was fully closed. "Holy shit, did he get shot?!"

"It's fine," he repeated, shuddering as Natasha forced her hands back against the wound. "Just get me an aspirin and a really big bandaid."

"I thought you dealt with the guards?" Chase asked. "I thought it was all –"

"Is not guards," Natasha said, her voice sounding strained. "Is someone else. I take badge."

Clint couldn't remember her leaving his side to take something from one of the bodies, but he also couldn't remember getting into the van so he wasn't that worried. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a badge with an eagle printed on it, holding it in front of his face.

He squinted at the lettering, grateful for something to take his mind off the pain. "S.H.I.E.L.D? What's that?"

Natasha shrugged and threw the badge into the front with Chase. "I don't know. I never hear of them."

Clint let his head fall back against the car seat and groaned, finally managing to bring his right hand up to press against the bullet hole himself. He didn't know what had happened to his bow, and his quiver wasn't on his back anymore. How long had they been driving for?

"_Mudak_," Natasha said suddenly, and when he glanced at her he could see that she was angry now. "You like getting yourself shot? You think is fun?"

"Um, nope?" Clint replied cautiously, unsure why she was so worked up at him for. "Couldn't really avoid it, though."

"You look where you are going," Natasha hissed, eyes wild. "They could kill you! You could die and then what? What I do?"

"Tasha," Clint said softly, wanting to reach for her but also not wanting to take his hand off the still bleeding wound. "C'mon. I didn't see them, okay? It happened so quickly and I just let my guard down or something, but I didn't mean it. I wouldn't… I wouldn't just _leave_."

He didn't want to say die, because it was beginning to occur to him that he really could have died. For all he knew he could still die, but he trusted that Chase and Natasha would get him somewhere safe and take care of him.

"You can't leave," Natasha said fiercely. "You could have died."

She grabbed his face with her hands and pulled him in to kiss him, rough and scared. He kissed her back, trying to reassure her that he was still there and alive, but when she pulled away her blood stained hands were shaking.

"I knew it!" Chase crowed from the front. "I knew you two were more than friends."

"Shut up," Natasha snapped. "We need hospital."

"Yes ma'am," Chase agreed easily. "One hospital, coming right up."

"Then we lose van," Natasha continued, ignoring Chase's grunt of protest. "We lie low. I have USB and we need to see we are not being followed."

"This van has been through so much with us," Chase argued.

"We lose van," Natasha repeated. She looked at Clint, and he saw the tired relief behind her eyes when he managed to smile back at her. "You are alive."

"S'not that easy to get rid of me," he murmured, and pushed past the pain to lean forward and rest his forehead against hers. He could only imagine what they looked like, the both of them covered in blood and smiling like fools. "I love you, Tash."

"You are not allowed to bleed out," she said, her voice thick. "_Mudak_. You scare me."

He let her replace his hands with her own, let himself feel it all in one blinding moment. "We're not gonna see Lucky for a while, huh?"

"Lucky comes with us," Natasha said softly. "He is family now."

"Okay," Clint said, and felt his heart backflip at the idea of a family.

"Okay," Natasha repeated. "Let's stitch you up. Is time I return favour."


	44. Chapter Forty Four

hey guys, thanks for all of your wonderful reviews! i hope you like this chapter! let me know if you saw this twist coming :) thanks for the support, i love you all!

hope you enjoy xx

* * *

**April**

Natasha brushed her fingers gently over the pink scar on Clint's shoulder. He watched her carefully, noticing the way her forehead crinkled just slightly and her lips twitched downwards. He wanted to take her hand away and tell her to stop worrying about it, but it had been three weeks already and he knew it would be pointless.

"S'all good, Tash," Clint told her carefully, keeping his voice light. "The doc said it healed perfectly. I'll be fine."

Natasha pulled away slightly, her lips parting as though she would say something, but then she pressed them into a thin line and shook her head. _I don't think you should do it_.

Clint blew out a breath of air, scrubbing a hand over his face. Even though he really was fine and the bullet wound _had_ healed better than expected, Natasha was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he had actually been shot. Even Clint himself seemed to be coping better than she was, and he had had nightmares almost every night since the incident.

Chase had driven them to a hospital and they had managed to make up an excuse as to why Clint was bleeding out of a hole in his shoulder. He had been sent home in a sling and they had spent the first few days treating the wound and lying low in New Mexico until they were sure that no one was following them.

After much arguing, Chase and Clint had managed to convince Natasha to stay at home in Brooklyn instead of jumping immediately to the new Washington safe house. The wound had healed, Clint had celebrated his eighteenth birthday sling free, and sometime between then and now, Natasha had stopped talking.

They didn't understand why, and Clint wasn't even sure _she_ really understood why either. One day she had just woken up and not said a word, and now it had been days and Clint longed for the sound of her rough accent teasing Chase or scolding Lucky. He was glad that they could at least communicate in ASL, but Chase had never learnt and things had been a little tense since.

Clint could use the arm with only a little twinge of pain now, and they had accepted two new hits to make up for the weeks they had off. The only problem was that they were in two different countries, as well, and Natasha wasn't thrilled to be splitting up.

"It's gonna be fine," he reassured her. "You should be happy, anyway. You drew the long straw."

Natasha rolled her eyes, pulling her legs up to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees. _I would rather not go to Milan at all if it meant you didn't have to leave the house._

"I'm not made of glass, Tash," Clint said. "But I am gonna get hurt sometimes. That's just what happens with this kind of… life."

_You could have… _Natasha trailed off, her hands beginning to shake just slightly. _Left. You could have left._

"I didn't though," Clint told her slowly. "Nat, you've been hurt so many times and it kills me seeing you like that, but I know that you can't stop doing this just because it's a little dangerous. C'mon, you saw me when I was a kid. My dad used to beat the shit out of me and we used to just pretend it didn't happen."

_I was scared_, Natasha admitted. _You scared me. I've never… I've never been scared like that before._

"It's okay," Clint said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "It's okay to be scared. I was really scared too."

Natasha's face shut off and she pulled away from him, standing and walking over to the bedroom without looking back. Clint didn't stop her. Even though she had been slightly more open with her emotions lately, she still struggled to understand that she was allowed to actually feel those things.

Clint rolled his shoulder, feeling the muscle and scar tissue pull slightly. Natasha had left her gun half-cleaned on the kitchen table, but Clint knew she would come back to it soon. If there was one thing Natasha couldn't do, it was leave weapons lying around that weren't ready to use.

"How you feeling?" Chase asked, sneaking up on Clint and causing him to jump slightly.

"Fine," Clint answered. "Little bit stiff, but it'll get better."

"Nice," Chase said. He sat down opposite Clint and pulled his laptop across the table toward him. "You sleeping?"

It was almost annoying how much Chase seemed to care for them. Clint didn't think he'd ever get used to it.

"You try sleeping after being shot," Clint huffed. "One, it _hurts_, and two, it really fucking hurts."

"Ha ha," Chase muttered. "What about our favourite Russian assassin?"

Clint shrugged. "Did we decide to include minus points now? Because we're probably sitting on a solid minus two stars."

"Damn," Chase muttered. "Any idea why she just flipped?"

"Could be anything with Tash," Clint said softly, aware that the bedroom door was still open and Natasha could probably hear them. "If there's one thing I've learnt, it's that her brain is like a minefield."

Chase grunted in response, focusing on the screen in front of him. Clint pulled his shirt back on and reached for his bow, running his thumb over the Black Widow symbol a few times to calm himself. He didn't really want to split up either, but the money was just too good to turn down this time, especially after Lucky's surgery and Clint's impromptu hospital visit.

"The hits were ordered by the same guy," Chase murmured, frowning. "Rough. Obviously not the kinda person you wanna piss off."

"What's he do?" Clint asked. He saw Natasha leave the bedroom and held his arm open to her, hoping she would be out of her bad mood. She considered him a moment, then came over and sat on Clint's knee.

"Drug smuggling, I think," Chase answered. "Maybe people smuggling on the side. From what I can tell, he's taking it out on ex-employees."

"Interesting," Clint said, but he was more concerned with brushing his fingers through the end of Natasha's hair. It was long, much longer than it had ever been before, and he couldn't get over the way it seemed to glow around her.

She elbowed him in the chest so that he would pay attention to her. _Ask Chase if he has any new leads on S.H.I.E.L.D._

"Any leads?" Clint said, ignoring the way that Chase was looking at Natasha's hands. "On S.H.I.E.L.D?"

"All I can find is information on some concreting business in New York," Chase replied. "Whoever they are, they don't actually exist."

_They have to_, Natasha signed. _It doesn't make sense. We have their badge_.

"It could be made up," Clint mused. "To throw us off. It could be… it could be the Red Room."

Clint felt Natasha tense on his lap. He refrained from touching her, giving her a moment to work through a thought she obviously hadn't had before. Then, she snatched her gun off the table and finished reassembling it.

"That's not a bad idea," Chase said. "I'll look into that. In the meantime, children, I've got all the info on your marks for your reading pleasure before we leave on Thursday."

Lucky chose that moment to trot over from where he had been napping on the couch, wagging his tail as he jumped up at Natasha. She swatted at him, scowling, and Clint reached around her to rub his hand over the puppy's head.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Clint cooed, and Lucky began jumping around the kitchen in excitement. "Hey Tash, wanna come?"

Natasha shrugged and stood, twisting her fingers together. Clint went about the kitchen grabbing Lucky's lead, as well as a jacket for himself and his shoes. By the time him and the dog was ready, Natasha had made up her mind and was standing by the door waiting for him.

Chase hadn't looked up from his laptop, entirely focused on whatever he was researching. Clint pulled the door shut behind them and they made their way down the stairs, Lucky bounding ahead and trying to pull Clint down faster. He gripped the railing and pulled back on the lead to prevent himself from falling. Lucky still needed to be properly trained; finding the time was proving to be a problem, though.

When they reached the street Clint entwined his free hand with Natasha's, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. She turned to face him, her eyes lighting up briefly as she smiled at him, and for a second Clint thought she might say something.

But then she turned away, and Clint was left wondering exactly how long it would take for her to return to normal.

* * *

That night, Clint woke up to the feeling of Natasha's fingers on his shoulder again.

He rolled over slightly, blinking his bleary eyes until her face came into focus. Her hairline was sweaty, meaning she had probably had another nightmare. He brought one of his hands up to brush over his face, then let it fall heavily on Natasha's back.

"You okay?" he asked out of habit. His hearing aids were somewhere in the bathroom, so he wasn't entirely sure how loud he was being. It didn't matter, anyway. Natasha still wasn't speaking.

They had realised that the smart thing to do would be to push their two single beds together, so now the clothes pile was permanently on the floor. There was a gap between the beds that Clint often found himself slipping into, but it meant he could spread out diagonally and still have room, even with Natasha.

For someone so small, Natasha could easily take up the whole bed. Clint often had to manoeuvre himself around her limbs, taking care not to jostle her and disrupt her starfish position. He thought it was cute, especially when she draped herself over the top of him without a care in the world.

Nights like this were different, though. Natasha was small beside him, taking up as little room as possible while still being as close as she could to him. Her fingers pressed against his scar and she shook her head, hair tickling his chest.

"S'okay" he told her, pulling his arm tighter around her shoulders. "M'here, Tasha."

She rested her head on his chest, and he could feel her breaths shaking over his skin. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he pushed it aside like he had every night for the past three weeks. He didn't want to think about it or he would spiral and then Chase would be the only one not crying.

He felt Lucky move by his legs, and a second later the dog was pushing his tiny body under one of Natasha's arms. She curled around him as though she wasn't even aware she was doing it, and when Clint looked into Lucky's eyes he knew the puppy knew exactly what he was doing.

Natasha would never admit to seeking comfort from Lucky, but it was clear that the dog knew something was wrong. Clint let out a deep breath, blinking against the tears that burned his eyes as he unwillingly remembered the sound of the shot and how close he had been to losing this all.

_We'll be okay_, Natasha signed, fingers close to his face so he could see. _Next time this happens, we'll be prepared._

Clint didn't want to think about the next time. He didn't want to believe that there ever would be a next time. He didn't even want to know what Natasha was thinking to cause her to say that. She was shutting down, blocking herself off from the hurt and trying to pretend like it wasn't a big deal.

Clint kind of wanted to do the same. He was sick of having nightmares and walking around expecting someone to jump out at him. He just wanted to get over it and keep going on with life, and he supposed that taking the hits were a step in the right direction.

He let himself feel it all for the last time, knowing he was safe in bed with Natasha and Lucky by his side. They would deal with whatever happened next. They would be prepared.

* * *

It was warm in Kathmandu, and Clint found himself wandering the streets without a jacket during the day. The air was smoggy, but overall he found himself enjoying the markets and the scenery.

It was his first hit without Natasha, and a part of him couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Usually he covered her as she went in to retrieve documents or kill someone quietly; they worked really well as a team, and Clint could see better from a distance. That was why he had agreed to come to Kathmandu instead of Milan; that, and the fact that Natasha had looked close to throwing a fit when he suggested she go to Nepal instead.

He only had his burner phone to use to communicate with Chase and Natasha, and so far everything was going to plan. Clint was going to take down his mark and then catch a flight to Canada, before meeting up with Natasha in Chicago. It was simple, for the amount of money the client was paying, and Clint was glad that he got to see another part of the world.

It was only a short taxi ride to the building that Clint was going to use to hit his target as he exited the club on the street below. Even though an arrow wasn't the most innocuous weapon choice, he was confident he could be out of the area before anyone even thought to look up.

He sat on the rooftop waiting, bow folded by his side. He had an arrow in one hand and was fiddling with the tip, imagining all the different types of arrowheads he would be able to use if only he knew how to make them. It was still warm, and a slight sweat began to sheen over his forehead the longer he had to wait.

He imagined Natasha in Milan, speaking fluent Italian to get into whatever room she wanted. He didn't actually know if she was going to speak or not, but it wasn't like it mattered; if Natasha wanted to go somewhere, she would go there, regardless of what was standing in her way.

He looked down over the side of the building, watching the front door of the club for any signs that his target was leaving. The security team was supposedly huge, but Clint hadn't seen anything to suggest that there was some big drug lord in the area. In fact, Clint hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary in the couple of days that he had been in Kathmandu.

He frowned as he felt a tiny flicker of uncertainty, but tried to push it down, blaming it on nerves; it was his first hit after he had been shot, after all, and it was probably okay to feel uneasy. A quick glance at his watch told him it was just after midnight. He still had time.

A second later, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out to see an unknown number flashing on the screen, and answered it hesitantly, holding it against his ear without saying anything.

"_Clint_?" It was Natasha, and the sound of her voice after so long was enough to momentarily distract him from how panicked she sounded. "_Clint_?"

"Yea, I'm here," he said, and then his brain caught up with the rest of him and he felt something icy settle in his stomach. "What's –"

"_Is trap_," Natasha hissed, her voice rough. "_Chase found man, _real_ man. He work for S.H.I.E.L.D_."

"The concreting place?" Clint asked, confused.

"_Nyet_!" Natasha snapped, and she sounded like she was running. "_Is government spy agency. Clint, get out of there_."

"Where are you?" he said desperately, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He pressed the phone harder against his face and reached for his bow, already standing. "Are you safe?"

"_Just get out_," Natasha said. "_We are compromised. You need to run_."

"Where are we meeting?" Clint asked, and when he was met with silence he heard a low, desperate sound rise from his throat. "Tash, talk to me."

Natasha was panting, but it was easier to hear her now so Clint assumed that she had stopped running. "_Canada is out. Chicago is bad idea. I don't… I don't know when –"_

"Stop," Clint said, taking a deep breath. He didn't want to think about not meeting up with her. He didn't want to think about being out on his own, searching for her and having no idea where to start. "It's fine. We –"

He didn't have to think of anything, because a second later there was a sharp pain across the back of his head, and the world around him went black.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

hey guys! sorry this was such a late chapter, but it's that time of the year and life is HECTIC!

i really hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think! and thanks so much for your support! x

* * *

Clint looked up as the door opened, blinking in surprise when a man in a suit entered the room. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but seeing someone so well dressed somehow made his stomach coil with anxiety.

He didn't really know how long he had been unconscious for, or where exactly he was in the world. He had woken up in the room he was in now, with only a hard steel bed and a table and chairs for company. There were security cameras, and Clint had walked around enough times to know that there were exactly thirty-seven tiles on the roof, but so far there had been no other human contact.

Clint was worried about Natasha. The last thing he remembered was hearing her voice over the phone, panicked even though he could tell she was trying to hide it. He only assumed that he had been taken by S.H.I.E.L.D because she had warned him, and because it was all too clean and efficient to be anything like what he imagined crime rings to be like.

Clint was already sitting in one of the chairs. He wanted to be prepared, even though every instinct in his body warned him to run away. He didn't know if they would torture him and if they did, he didn't know how well he would cope. He had survived his father for years, though. That had to count for something.

The man sat across from Clint, placing a manila folder and a McDonald's bag on the table between them. The smell of the burger inside had Clint's stomach rumbling in seconds; he couldn't remember the last thing he had eaten, but it could have been days ago for all he knew.

"Hello, Mr Barton," the man said. He was older than Clint, and had the kind of face that Clint would spill his guts to without realising. "We've been looking for you for quite some time now."

Clint leant back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "You coulda just knocked."

The man blinked calmly. Clint couldn't get a read on him. He wasn't sure how he should act; if he came across as too easy going they might not take him seriously, but he also didn't want to be too closed off in case they _did_ decide to hurt him.

"We weren't sure where to find you," the man admitted.

"Oh," Clint said, confused. They had found him in a foreign country but not in his own home? "That's weird."

"Is it?" The man asked, and held out his hand. "I'm Phil Coulson."

Clint shook his hand warily. "You seem to know who I am."

"Yes, we do," Coulson said, opening the manila envelope. "Clint Barton, aged eighteen, from Waverly, Iowa. Both parents deceased and your brother is –"

"As good as dead," Clint said bitterly. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Your school counsellor thought you were being abused but you stubbornly refuted every claim she made," Coulson continued. "You _were_ being abused, if the broken ribs and hearing loss are anything to go by. Not typical childhood injuries, Clint."

"How do you know this?" Clint grit out. His anxiety quickly turned to anger, because whilst the things Coulson knew were pretty basic, he didn't like the idea that a complete stranger had so much information on him.

"Hospital records, school records," Coulson listed. "In the case of your parents, a write up in the local paper and death certificates."

Clint refolded his arms over his chest and looked away, clenching his jaw in frustration. He didn't like to think much about his past and especially didn't like to have it thrown back in his face. He wanted to peek at the paper in the folder but didn't want to give Coulson the satisfaction of knowing he was curious.

"What we don't know is how an average boy from Iowa got mixed up with a Russian assassin."

Clint paused, momentarily forgetting to draw a breath as his brain tumbled through a variety of scenarios that all ended the same way. It was suddenly clear why he was here, why he hadn't just been killed and dumped back in Kathmandu. S.H.I.E.L.D didn't really want _him_. They wanted Natasha.

"The two of you cropped up on our radar in Italy last year," Coulson continued. If he noticed Clint's sudden change in behaviour he ignored it. "We had been trying to infiltrate the weapons ring for six months. Imagine our surprise when two children swooped in and shut it down in less than a day."

Clint returned his gaze to Coulson but didn't say anything. He tried to stay calm, and figured if he just listened to what the man had to say then he could probably work out where to go from there. If Natasha were here, she would more than likely have Coulson spilling secrets in a heartbeat. He drew in a sharp breath to stop himself from spiralling.

Coulson pushed the McDonald's bag across the table towards him. "Have a burger."

A small part of Clint wondered if it would be poisoned, but a larger part was too hungry to care that much. Besides, if he did die then at least he hadn't said anything incriminating against Natasha. She would still have a chance without him.

Coulson raised an eyebrow as Clint hungrily ripped open the wrapper of the burger. He couldn't help the groan that escaped his mouth as he chewed, and had to remind himself to slow down and enjoy it. Maybe this would be the last thing they ever fed him and he would starve to death slowly over the next few weeks.

"To be fair, we didn't really know what was going on," Clint said around his mouth full. "Sometimes you just gotta start shooting."

"You didn't answer my question," Coulson said.

"You didn't ask one," Clint retaliated, then added boldly, "_sir_."

"Okay," Coulson conceded. He pushed a large, glossy photograph across the table to Clint. "How did you, an average American boy, get roped into killing alongside a Russian assassin?"

Clint surveyed the photo, rubbing his greasy hands down the front of his shirt. It was a picture from an airport; if he had to guess, he would say it was Smolensk, on the way back from their failed mission to destroy the Red Room in Belarus. His face was clear in the picture, legs slightly blurred as he walked, but when he looked at Natasha beside him he realised he couldn't see her face at all.

He squinted, trying to make out her features, but it was like someone had wiped her face clean and left just smudged fingerprints. Coulson pushed another photo over and that one was the same, Natasha's head angled just so that there were no discernible features, only her red and blonde hair braided down her back.

"Not just any Russian assassin," Clint said calmly, leaning away from the photos. He hadn't realised that Natasha had been hiding even in public, hadn't even thought once about whether he should cover his face or not. She had given him caps or glasses to wear sometimes but this was something else.

"No," Coulson agreed. "A Black Widow. The _only _successful Black Widow, if rumour is to be believed."

"Don't know if they would call that successful," Clint muttered. He reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of fries, making a mental note to remember to thank Coulson for not poisoning his food.

"There were twenty-eight students and only one survived. This picture is the single piece of evidence we have that she exists," Coulson explained. "That, and over fifty kills spanning the last six years."

Clint frowned. He didn't know exactly how much S.H.I.E.L.D knew, or how much they could find out, but he wasn't about to tell them that Yelena had survived, too. It felt a bit like betraying Natasha to bring up the younger girl, as much as he would love to get her back for running away on them.

"Wait," he said suddenly, sitting up straight in his chair. "The last six years? That can't be –"

"It could be more," Coulson admitted, shrugging. "Confirmed, yes, at least six years. She has been their most active operative."

Natasha would have been twelve. The realisation slammed into Clint like a truck, and before he could stop it he felt pressure building in his chest. He stood abruptly, letting the chair topple behind him. He could remember her at eleven, scared on his kitchen floor, panicking over the sound of a spoon. At twelve she had kissed him, had cried in the night and taught him to fight during the day, and according to the man sitting across from him, had been _killing people._

"This shocks you," Coulson stated calmly. "Why?"

Clint ran a hand over his face, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to try and regain control over his body. He needed to gain the upper hand. He couldn't let Coulson know how deeply connected they were, because it was clear that S.H.I.E.L.D knew nothing about Natasha. Ivan had probably wiped her school records the minute he took her back to Russia for good, if she had even had school records to begin with.

"You don't know her name," Clint finally managed to say. He sat on the bed, trying to make it seem like he had been meaning to go there anyway. His throat was dry and he almost felt like he wanted to throw up. "What _do_ you know about her?"

Coulson grinned tightly. "Not as much as you inexplicably do. Would you like to tell me how you met?"

Clint didn't want to tell him anything, but he figured he could at least try and make something up. "She's a Black Widow, sir. It's not hard to get tangled in her web."

Coulson considered Clint for a moment. Clint didn't know what to make of the man. On the one hand he seemed harmless, just another pencil pusher in a suit trying to make things easier for himself. On the other hand, Clint could tell that he was a very dangerous man, and wouldn't hesitate to just end it all if he didn't get what he wanted.

"There's only one other photo we have managed to take of this woman," Coulson said eventually, and Clint was surprised to hear the term _woman _instead of _girl_. Even though Natasha was nearly eighteen, it almost seemed like Coulson thought she was much older than Clint.

Clint had to walk back to the table to see the photograph that Coulson laid out. It was a picture of him and Natasha in Germany, before the hit on the Vice Chancellor. Natasha's face was hidden by her hair and a scarf but Clint was smiling at her as he held the door to a café open. They had stopped for breakfast that morning, just enjoying Germany before it became another country tainted by a hit.

He looked happy. Too happy to be able to tell Coulson that he was being held against his will, or that he didn't care for her. It was written on his face, clear as day. He _wanted _to be there.

"Is this love, Mr Barton?" Coulson asked carefully.

He fought the urge to spit back Natasha's classic line about love being for children, feeling hypocritical for even thinking it when he had constantly argued against her. His love for her burned red hot through his chest and he tried to force the images of her smile and eyes and lips from his mind before he gave himself away.

"What can I say," Clint said softly. "I met her when I was in a tough spot, she charmed me, and here I am now. I have no idea where she is. She only kept me around to help her out, but it's not... It's not that."

The words hurt to say, but he forced himself to say them anyway. He blocked everything out, forgot all about his childhood and the last year and pretended it was true. He could convince this man that he had been used by Natasha if it was what kept them alive.

"She trained you?" Coulson confirmed, and Clint nodded, taking a seat opposite him again.

"Look, my parents had died and my brother had left, and when a pretty girl asked me for help it seemed a hell of a lot better than whatever I was already living with."

Coulson consulted another piece of paper in the manila folder while Clint ate his remaining fries. He felt tired; he had learnt something new about Natasha, and he wasn't even sure if it was something she would know herself. She had never once told him about any of that, and it hadn't come up when they had made the timelines.

"There's a big price on her head," Coulson said. "Quite a few people want the two of you dead, but her especially. The Red Room is hunting for her, too. What doesn't make sense to me is how the two of you can disappear so easily."

Clint hadn't really thought about it before, but he supposed that him and Natasha were pretty good at making themselves invisible. "I dunno what to say, sir. Guess the Widow is just that good."

Coulson sighed, though he didn't appear frustrated. "It's hard to remain 'that good' when the game changes, though."

"You think she's gonna come for me?" Clint asked incredulously. "I'm sorry, sir, but if your plan is to grab her when she rescues me, you might want to think of Option B. She's not coming. She doesn't _care_. Don't you see? I'm disposable. How many other idiots would fall for the exact same trick?"

"Do you really believe that?" Coulson said softly.

Clint did. He knew Natasha cared, and he knew that the part about her tricking him was all fake anyway, but he truly didn't believe she would come for him. It would be stupid and reckless, two things she was not, and he didn't even know if she would be able to find him. He could be in the middle of Antarctica for all he knew. Marching into an agency like this would be suicide.

"There's a lot I could tell you about her," Clint said carefully. "That should be the number one thing you know, though. She only looks out for herself."

Coulson closed the folder and folded his hands atop the table, leaning in a little closer to Clint. "I could tell you a lot about S.H.I.E.L.D, if you were interested. I think you have some kind of right to know who ordered the hit that landed you here."

Clint actually laughed. "It was you, right? Trying to split us up, for what? To make it easier?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Coulson said simply. "The two of you together work better than most of the Strike Teams currently employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. Whilst some people in this agency are trying to kill you, there are others who believe you may make us stronger."

Clint blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The Black Widow may have killed five of our agents in the last month, but I believe there may be a chance at redemption here," Coulson explained. "I think you know what I'm implying."

Clint only knew that Natasha had killed two of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents, the ones who had shot him in New Mexico. Hearing Coulson say five made hope soar in his chest, because it most likely meant that Natasha had made it out of Milan in one piece and was currently on the run.

He didn't know where she would go. He didn't know what had happened to Chase, and he didn't want to think about poor Lucky alone in the kennel, because what if he never saw any of them again? If Coulson really was hinting at what Clint thought he was, then he would be stupid not to listen to the man.

This could be their way out. He didn't know about S.H.I.E.L.D, but he knew enough to realise that if they wanted him dead he would be already. The room wasn't that bad, anyway, and the burger had been a nice surprise. Coulson seemed like the kind of man Clint could trust, and he could list the number of men he trusted off on one hand.

"If you have a moment," Coulson said seriously, his face remaining stoic even as his eyes shone with humour. "I'd like to tell you about an employment opportunity."

Clint rolled his eyes around at the room, then tipped his chair back on two legs and grinned broadly. "I've got all the time in the world, sir."


	46. Chapter Forty Six

hey guys, HAPPY NEW YEAR! i wanted to update before the new year, but i ran out of time with the holiday rush, so here it is (a lil later than usual) i hope you enjoy this chapter! i feel like i could've written it forever but cut back quite a bit so we'll see :) i also thought this fic would be finished by 2019 but it's quite a bit longer than i ever anticipated, with a sequel coming once i'm finished!

thank you for all your reviews, let me know what you think of this chapter! hope you enjoy x

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**Philadelphia, 2007**

**May**

As far as being imprisoned went, Clint thought he had it pretty good with S.H.I.E.L.D. Despite not having a TV and having to pee in front of multiple security cameras, he had a bed and Agent Coulson to keep him entertained. It had been a month since his capture, according to Coulson, and Clint trusted him enough to believe him when he said they were only in Philadelphia and not some island in the middle of the Pacific.

He was silently worried about Natasha, but was managing to keep his cool in front of Coulson and the agents assigned to watch him. They hadn't pushed for much more information, instead letting him know about the way that S.H.I.E.L.D operated until it became clear that he only had one choice: join them as an agent.

Clint wasn't opposed to the idea; as far as he could tell, S.H.I.E.L.D were the good guys, gathering intelligence and data to keep everyday citizens safe. It reminded him of the early days with Natasha, when they had naively thought they could save the world before they realised there were just too many cruel people out there. The difference was that S.H.I.E.L.D had the manpower and the means, and the more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

His only problem was bargaining Natasha into the situation. Coulson had expressed his desire to have Natasha working for them, but Clint was more concerned with the higher ups that he had heard wanted her dead. He didn't want to tell Coulson about her if it was going to end badly; they were a package deal, and he needed to figure out how to ensure her safety too, even though he wasn't even sure she would even agree to it.

The door opened and Coulson entered, wearing his customary suit and carrying a plastic-wrapped sandwich. "Afternoon, Mr Barton."

"C'mon Coulson, you can call me Clint," Clint said, sitting up on his bed. "No one's ever called me Mr Barton before. That was my dad."

Coulson paused, looking at Clint with an unreadable expression. He was a nice man, if not a little too formal, and Clint had really begun to like him over the last few weeks. If he did have to pledge his loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D, he would gladly do it if Coulson was his handler.

"Okay, Clint," Coulson conceded. "How's a meatball sub sound?"

"You know me too well," Clint moaned, taking a seat at the table and pulling the sandwich closer to him. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Like an open book," Coulson commented drily. "Sometimes that's just as hard, though."

"Hmm," Clint hummed around his mouthful. "I dunno. I can't get a read on _you_."

"I'm a specially trained agent, Clint," Coulson said. "You shouldn't get a read on me."

Clint fought back the urge to sign _whatever_ at Coulson. It wasn't that Coulson didn't know he knew ASL, because Clint had told him a few minor details about his life, but it was the fact that it was Natasha's comeback and Clint didn't want to think too much about her.

"Anyway, what's on today's agenda?" Clint asked, changing the subject smoothly. "Got any more questions on the Widow I can dodge while stuffing my face with junk?"

"Actually, no," Coulson answered. He set a briefcase down in front of him, and for the first time all month Clint felt anxiety prickle over his skin. "I have to admit, we thought she would have come by now."

"I told you she wouldn't," Clint snapped. He was suddenly on edge, and the meatball sub sat heavily in his stomach. "You've been wasting your time, sir."

"Yes, I can see that now," Coulson admitted. "But now that we're sure, the next step is to initiate you as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. After that we can start assessment and training."

"Wait," Clint said slowly. "You wanna make me an agent? Right now?"

"There's a few things for you to read over, of course, but yes. That was the idea."

Coulson opened the briefcase and pulled out a stack of documents. Clint's eyes widened as he took in the sheer amount of paperwork that was laid out before him; it would take him the better half of the day to read it all, unless he just decided to sign it. He wasn't sure about the fine print though. Natasha would make him read it if she were here.

"Oh," Clint said. He rubbed a hand over his head self-consciously, feeling his earns burn a little with embarrassment. "I can have a go, but my comprehension skills…"

"You taught yourself to read Russian," Coulson deadpanned. "I have no reason to worry."

"My English teacher did," Clint muttered. "CPS too. They worried a lot."

Something in Coulson's expression shifted just slightly. "It's not important, Clint. S.H.I.E.L.D won't treat you any differently."

"So long as I can shoot straight, right?" Clint laughed, trying to brush it off. He _could _read, and he could write too, but sometimes it got all messed up in his brain, or there was too much for him to concentrate on. It was only really now that Clint was noticing it, because before then he hadn't had stuff like this _to_ read.

"Right," Coulson agreed tiredly. He stood up and brushed down his suit, even though it was immaculate as always. "I'll leave you to it. Someone should be by in a few hours."

"Roger," Clint said, dragging the paperwork across the table to himself.

Coulson left the room, the door clicking loudly behind him. Clint had been allowed out a couple of times, handcuffed and with a gun trained on him at all times, but it was out nevertheless and it had given him the opportunity to survey his surroundings in a little more detail.

There were cameras everywhere, armed guards at every corner, and when they left the holding rooms the place was swarming with agents anyway. If Clint had wanted to make a run for it, he would be stopped in seconds. He didn't even know if he _did _want to make a run for it; all he knew was that there was a part of him that was ready to leave, and the more time he spent away from Natasha, the harder it was getting to ignore.

He sighed and flipped through the pages, head already aching at the thought of looking over it all. He resigned himself to a boring afternoon. Hopefully when Coulson came back, he had pizza.

* * *

Clint wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door clicked open again, but he had migrated to the bed and was lying on his back counting how many times the word 'terminated' appeared on page 184 when Natasha walked in.

He froze, briefly wondering if S.H.I.E.L.D had the kind of tech to imitate a person's face perfectly, except it wasn't perfect because she had a scab on her lip and dark bags under her eyes and –

"Clint," he heard her say, and then she was in front of him with her small hands holding either side of his face. "Is me. Is real."

The voice was the same, her hands were the same. "How do I know?"

He could tell that Natasha wasn't hurt by the question, not that he expected her to be, and she pulled him up to his feet as she answered. "I like borscht with extra sour cream. You teach me to drive. I have doll called Yulia."

"True, true, true," Clint muttered to himself, not missing Natasha's playful eye roll. "Tash, I…"

"You have to hurry, we already are running out of time," Natasha said. She thrust a change of clothes at him, and for the first time Clint realised that she was wearing a pencil skirt and blouse, and her hair was short and black.

"Is wig," she told him when she noticed him staring. "Hurry. We need to leave."

Clint didn't fully understand what was happening, or why no one was rushing into the room to stop them. He took off his S.H.I.E.L.D issue tracksuit and replaced it with the suit Natasha had brought, accepting a pair of glasses that he didn't think would do much to hide his face.

"Okay," Clint said, feeling a hint of trepidation as he followed Natasha out of the room and around the two guards that were slumped against the wall. "Are they dead?"

"_Nyet_," Natasha responded, continuing briskly down the hall and past another set of unconscious guards. "They are taking nap."

"Right," Clint drawled, catching up to her in a few big strides. "Hey, you know you made me look like a liar now, right? I told them you weren't coming."

"I can put you back," Natasha said.

"Nah, s'all good," Clint chuckled. He brushed his fingers against hers, catching her smirk out of the corner of his eye. "It's been a long month."

"I know," Natasha said softly. She straightened slightly and used her lanyard to swipe them through the next set of doors. Clint didn't even want to know where she had gotten it from.

"Hey," he said, gripping her elbow and swinging her around to stand in front of him. They moved closer to the wall, letting another agent pass them. Clint held his breath but the agent didn't seem to realise anything was out of place.

"We have no time," Natasha hissed, eyes darting around the narrow hallway.

"You okay?" he asked her. "Honestly. Because I know it sucked."

"Is fine," Natasha insisted. "We can talk later. I am okay."

"How'd you do that?" Clint said, reaching out to touch her lip but dropping his hand at the last second. The hallway they were in wasn't exactly empty, and he had read enough of S.H.I.E.L.D's policy to know that interpersonal relationships were not allowed. He didn't want to draw any more attention to them.

"Someone hit me," Natasha told him, eyes finally meeting his. "They are dead now."

Clint nodded, stepping away from the wall and gesturing for Natasha to lead the way. He didn't know what would happen next or what Natasha's plan was, but he trusted her enough to step into it blind.

"Chase is hacking security camera," Natasha muttered to him as they approached the next door. "They can't see us in room but we don't have much time. We pretend to be agent, walk out door, and get in car to go."

"What if they realise?" Clint said. "Or they kick Chase out of the system?"

"I have gun," Natasha deadpanned, shaking the handbag that hung from her arm. "I shoot way out."

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Except… We don't shoot to kill, okay? Agent Coulson had a deal and he's not… he's actually not that bad."

Natasha glanced at him briefly, eyebrows drawn together, then shrugged and swiped her pass again. The doors opened before them and they stepped out into the main foyer; there were agents walking around everywhere, and Clint felt his nerves kick into overdrive as he surveyed the area. The exit was _so_ close.

"I thought it would be harder to just walk out," Clint said quietly.

"When there's a security breach, its all hands on deck," Natasha replied, slipping into her American accent flawlessly. "A lot of agents are responding to reports of a break in at the armoury."

"Busy day at S.H.I.E.L.D," Clint commented. "I can't believe this is working."

"Well, we haven't left yet," Natasha muttered, grinning broadly at a woman who was approaching them. "Karina! How are you?"

Clint had a million thoughts racing through his mind as the other agent answered Natasha. He didn't understand how they could know each other, unless Natasha had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D or had done a whole lot of research on their agents. Not even the building was what Clint had expected; it looked like any ordinary office building, and Clint idly wondered if it was to ensure the agency remained discreet.

"Has Broadford let you in on that translation yet?" Karina asked, snapping Clint from his thoughts.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "No. I'm still relegated to coffee runs and photocopying."

"Don't let him push you around," Karina laughed. "Anyway, I better keep going. Did you hear there was a security breach earlier?"

"It's terrible," Natasha agreed, shaking her head. "I'll see you around."

"Bye Nadia!" Karina called, and left Natasha and Clint to continue on their way.

"You're gonna have to tell me how you pulled this off," Clint said to her.

Natasha opened her mouth to answer when there was suddenly the sound of an alarm blaring throughout the building. They stopped walking, looking around in shock like the rest of the agents, but Clint could feel the tension radiating from Natasha. He readied himself, trying to pretend that he didn't know what was going on.

"Out of time," Natasha breathed, and then reached into her bag and pulled out a handgun. She subtly passed it to Clint, her face steely. "You run as soon as you can."

"And you?" Clint asked tersely. His hearing aids squeaked against the influx of noise but he couldn't afford to turn them down.

"I'll be right behind you," Natasha assured him. "The building is on a main street. The car should be there, but if we get separated don't be followed. We'll meet at the apartment."

"We can't stay there," Clint said incredulously. "Coulson said they don't know about it but it's the one thing I don't trust him on."

"We're getting the stupid dog," Natasha said.

"Oh," Clint said, then grinned despite himself. "I hate that accent."

"_Ukusi menya_" Natasha said.

Clint rolled his eyes. Natasha focused on something over his shoulder and he turned to see a swarm of agents burst through the door that they had left not even five minutes ago. They were armed, and Clint began moving before his brain even fully registered what he was doing.

Natasha dropped her handbag, aiming her own gun at one of the light fixtures on the roof. There was an ear-splitting bang, and then sparks as the light exploded with the impact of the bullet; people started screaming, and Clint was aware of Natasha running beside him as the exit loomed before them.

The strike team behind them started shooting, and Clint spun to return fire, ripping the glasses from his face as he aimed at everything except the agents. They ducked to cover, and Clint used that time to put some more distance between them, except when he turned around Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

He pushed past shocked agents, eyes scanning the crowded foyer until he finally found Natasha closer to the entrance; she was locked in a hand to hand fight with a man almost triple her size, and Clint couldn't quite tell who was winning. He diverted towards her in case she needed help, keeping one eye on the agents that were pursuing them from behind.

Natasha slipped beneath the man's legs and reappeared over his shoulders. The man reached up, gripping her hair and pulling hard enough for the wig to fly off, and Natasha fell with it, only saving herself by wrapping her legs around the man's neck. Before Clint could blink the man was flipping through the air to land heavily on his back, and Natasha slammed her gun against his head to end their fight once and for all.

Clint caught up with her and they sprinted, lungs and legs burning as they dodged the people trying to cover themselves from the gunshots that rung out behind them. Clint couldn't even hear the alarm anymore; all that mattered was reaching the door, getting outside and running for his life.

Natasha swiped her pass as Clint fired the last bullet from his gun, and then they were on the street. A few civilians stared as they burst through the doors, but Clint didn't have time to notice before Natasha was pushing him across the road and into the back of a SUV.

Chase grinned at them from the front seat. "You guys missed a show."

"Drive," Natasha snapped, falling back against the seat. She was panting, and Clint could see blood dripping down her forehead from where the wig had ripped her skin.

His head was swimming from the adrenaline rush. He glanced out the window to see the strike agents spill out onto the street, but Chase was pulling away before they even knew which car they were in. His hands shook against his thighs, and he clenched them into fists to try and stop it. They had actually done it. He was out.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

"Prison treated you well," Chase commented. "Though I gotta say, everyone in that control room looked pretty put together. Guy with the eye-patch though? He was a little off putting, to say the least."

"I didn't meet him," Clint said. "God. How did this happen?"

"I am good," Natasha murmured warily.

"Plus, S.H.I.E.L.D was kinda hiding in plain sight," Chase chimed in. "They may not in concreting, but they did register their fake business name to that building."

Clint laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, then rubbed his hand across his face. His hearing aids would need a little adjusting; they would probably need replacing soon anyway, but he filed that away for another day. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, the usual exhaustion he felt afterwards was starting to set in.

Natasha was watching him, and even though they were already sitting shoulder to shoulder, Clint opened his arms and let her crawl onto his lap. She sat facing him, legs on either side of his thighs and hands on his cheeks again.

"Hey," he murmured thickly.

"Hi," she replied, resting her forehead against his. "You are okay?"

"Yea," he said. He reached up and swiped some of the blood off her forehead, wincing at the bruise that was already beginning to from around the small wound. "I missed you."

Natasha didn't reply, instead closing the little distance that remained between them and drawing him into a kiss. It was slow yet urgent, and as he held her against him he could feel the worry and tension leave her body. He wanted to stay there forever with her, but then he tasted something metallic and pulled apart to see that Natasha's lip was bleeding now, too.

"You gonna tell me about this?" he asked as she swiped the back of her hand over her lip.

"_Da_," she said. "I have lots to tell you."

"You don't know how good it is to hear your voice," Clint laughed, squeezing his arms around her.

"Tell me about it, man," Chase said. "I thought for sure it was gonna be the blind leading the blind when we realised you were gone. Snapped her straight out of her funk, though."

"Is not funk," Natasha moaned, pressing her head against Clint's chest.

"It was a little bit like a funk," Clint said. He rubbed his hand down her back and took a deep, steadying breath. He was out. They were okay. They just had to get Lucky and they would be in the home clear.

Except, Clint couldn't help but wonder about Coulson and his offer. He had been so close to potentially signing on to be an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and he hadn't been nearly as bothered about that as he had thought he would be. Maybe he could mention it to Natasha. He didn't think she would like it, but it would ensure their safety and mean that they didn't have to keep running.

For now, he was happy to get out of there, relieved that they had even managed to pull it off. All they had to do was pick up Lucky, and their family would be reunited again.


	47. Chapter Forty Seven

hey guys! here's a cute lil chapter just as a bonus bc i think they deserve some happiness now (it's a little bit steamy but not graphic at all) THANK YOU for all of your wonderful reviews, too :) i appreciate you all so much!

hope you enjoy! x

* * *

**Washington, 2007**

**April**

"So you picked a fight with a guy off his face on PCP because?"

Natasha huffed, stretching her hands above her head to inspect her nails. "He is being annoying on train."

Clint laughed. "And you just hit him?"

"I tell him to stop, he hit me first," Natasha explained. "Then I hit him. He is strong."

"PCP does that to people," Clint sighed. He moved his hand from beside Natasha to rest it on her stomach instead, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. "Anyone help?"

"_Nyet_," Natasha said. "Is very early, so no one is in carriage. I nearly kill him. Was fun."

"Right," Clint drawled. "He busted your lip pretty good."

"I tell everyone I am robbed. They believe me because Nadia is just translator."

Clint hummed in response, trailing his fingers over Natasha's smooth skin and feeling her muscles tense slightly as he passed over one of her ticklish spots. They had jumped from state to state over the last week, shaking tails and trying to create as much confusion as possible, and now they were in Natasha's safe house in the quaint town of La Conner while they waited for all of the commotion to die down.

Natasha had told him everything; how Chase had managed to find where Clint was being held, and had created an alias so airtight that Nadia technically _existed _as a real person in the world. It had only taken them a few days to get Natasha into S.H.I.E.L.D as a translator, but it had taken a couple of weeks before they felt confident enough to break Clint out. Nadia had photocopied and ordered coffee and translated a few basic documents, all while Natasha took note of the security system and worked out an escape plan.

Clint was impressed, not that he would ever doubt Natasha's skills as a spy. The fact that she had infiltrated a top-secret agency was incredible, and he still couldn't quite believe they had made it all the way to Washington without being stopped. For two teens, a puppy and a self-taught hacker, they had done pretty well.

"Well, I ate a whole bunch of pizza," Clint said seriously. "Agent Coulson taught me how to play spit."

"Spit?" Natasha said.

"It's a card game," Clint told her. "Some people call it speed but Coulson calls it spit. I'll teach you."

Natasha lowered her arms and instead started playing with Clint's fingers where they rested on her belly. "He does not sound like bad person."

"He's not," Clint said honestly. "He talked to me about a bunch of stuff. Plus there was pizza. And burgers. The food was pretty good."

"I can tell," Natasha said lightly, twisting her head from where it rested on Clint's hip to see his reaction.

The smile on her face made his heart burst. "Hey! I didn't eat _that _many pizzas, okay? I'm still buff."

"_Yesli ty tak govorish'" _Natasha teased.

"Cut it out," Clint laughed, moving his hand to brush back over Natasha's ticklish spot.

She squealed, the sound surprising even her, and then she was laughing the way she did as a little girl; full-bellied and gruff, squirming away from his hands as he moved them over her stomach. It was childish and fun and everything they needed, just a moment where nothing mattered except for them.

Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she hadn't bothered getting dressed afterwards except for her underwear, and Clint could feel the coolness of her skin even though it wasn't that cold in their room. The door was open, though Chase was already asleep in his own room down the hall, and Lucky was still making heads and tails of the new house. It was domestic in a way that Clint didn't really know, but it felt nice and warm.

Natasha rolled on top of him, finally freeing herself from his attack. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright in a way that they hadn't been for a long time. Clint brushed some of her hair behind her ear as she gazed at him, the last of her laughter ghosting over his face.

It was suddenly quiet and still. Clint could feel Natasha's heartbeat on his chest. Her toes pressed into his thighs and her smile was shy now, her gaze soft beneath her long lashes.

"Hey Tasha," Clint whispered, not wanting to disrupt the silence but knowing they were standing on the edge of something new.

"Hi," she whispered back.

She wiggled up his body until they were chin to chin, her lips brushing over his as he tangled his hand in her hair. They kissed slowly, knowing they had the time now and unafraid of what could happen in the future. Clint didn't think about anything except Natasha, warm against him, her heart a steady rhythm that he swore he could hear.

They moved together, sitting up so Natasha could pull his shirt over his head. When he flipped them over it was just as awkward as the first time, except the urgency was gone now and when she looked at him her eyes were clear.

"The door," she mumbled, smile lazy as he continued to kiss from her ear down her neck.

"Hmmm," Clint hummed against her skin. There were new freckles across her collarbone, a smattering of gold that dipped below her bra. He opened his mouth to ask but she bet him to it, hands reaching behind her back to unclasp the garment.

"Door," she said, a little firmer now, and Clint barely managed to drag himself away from her.

He stumbled to the door, shutting it before Lucky could poke his head in and see what was going on. He shut the curtains too, dodging the mess they had inexplicably already made and narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe against the wall. Natasha laughed again, and when he turned to her she held her arms out to him, fingers searching the space between them.

Clint was at the edge of the bed when Natasha spoke, face flushed as she tried to think of what she wanted to say. "_Snyat'._"

He stepped out of his pants and then she was kissing him again, drawing him against her and cupping his cheeks with her hands. He had kissed Natasha many times, but it had never felt quite like this before. The world could have ended and he wouldn't have minded. He probably wouldn't have even noticed.

"I love you," Natasha breathed against his lips.

Clint paused, pulling apart just slightly as the realisation of what she had said fully hit him. She had told him once in Russian, and he was sure she had even signed it before, but it was the first time he had heard the words in English and the force of it left him winded.

"What?" she asked. She wasn't uncertain, because when it came to Clint she was never uncertain, but there was a shimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

"I love you too," he said softly, not caring that it was cheesy and lame and not at all how their relationship usually worked. Natasha didn't need to say things; Clint could always tell from her body language exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted.

Clint knew Natasha's body as she knew his, all the soft parts and the scars, the way it bent and moved and lived. He knew the sensitive spot below her breast and the way her muscles coiled when he pressed kisses there and when she carded her fingers through his hair he knew that _she _knew, that she had memorised him too despite everything that she had been through.

Her hand was firm against his shoulder, grounding him to her. He kissed his way down to her navel, across the taught skin of her abs, finding tiny silvery scars as he went. There was one at the waistband of her underwear, slightly raised and a little longer than the others. His nose brushed over it and he felt her shiver.

"Wait," he said suddenly, raising his head from the soft skin of her thigh. "I don't have anything –"

It hadn't been something he was thinking about when fleeing S.H.I.E.L.D, or when they had done their first grocery run upon arrival in La Conner. Natasha seemed confused for a minute, and then she shook her head sharply, as though trying to dislodge a thought.

"Is fine," she insisted, pulling him back up her body.

"No, wait," Clint said. He blew out a breath, trying to slow his racing heart. "God, Tash, I don't wanna stop but…"

"Then don't," Natasha said simply. She kissed his collarbone, his cheek, the side of his mouth, and he momentarily lost his train of thought as he was drawn back to her.

She shifted beneath him and he paused again, forcing himself to just breathe. "Okay. We gotta stop."

Natasha huffed. "Is no problem. I am fine."

"Oh, no," Clint said, trying to backpedal. "I'm not… I'm not saying that. I'm thinking more like we can't exactly afford to, ya know… have a baby."

"Oh," Natasha said, head cocked to the side as she thought about what he had said. Then she shrugged, stroking her thumb over his cheek. "Is fine. I can't have baby."

"Oh," Clint repeated, frowning. "I didn't know."

"Graduation ceremony," Natasha stated. "Is bad news to have assassin who can get pregnant."

Clint sighed, bringing his forehead down to press against Natasha's. She smiled at him softly, her thumb still moving over the stubble he hadn't shaved yet. With her free hand she took one of his, bringing it down between their bodies to run over the raised scar he had found below her belly button.

"Is hard to see," she murmured. "No one likes ugly scars."

"I'm sorry," Clint said to her.

Natasha seemed confused. "I do not want baby, Clint."

"I know," he said gently. "But you should have had the choice."

Natasha pulled her swollen bottom lip between her teeth, and then nodded shakily. Clint knew that she probably hadn't thought about it like that before, since being able to make her own decisions was still something she struggled with. His heart ached for all of the things she had had taken from her, though he didn't say anything else.

He kissed her again, getting so easily lost in her lips and eyes. He wanted to map every inch of her, and when she moved her hands over his body as though she were doing just that he let her. Natasha pressed butterfly kisses across his collarbone and moaned into him, and Clint let himself feel completely all of his love for her, wanting to convey it in his actions too.

Despite how well they knew each other this was still _new_, and they were learning together the arch and pull of their bodies, different even to when they fought together. Her skin against his, her breath over him, more and please and _yes, Clint_.

And they were okay. They were more than okay.

* * *

Chase was already awake when Clint made his way out to the kitchen the next day.

"Morning," Clint called, heading straight to the fridge for the juice Natasha had bought for herself.

Chase eyed him from the kitchen counter. "You're up early."

"It's not that early," Clint shrugged. He poured a glass of juice for Natasha, then switched the coffee maker on. "_You're_ up."

"I'm waiting for Quinn to call me," Chase said. "It usually takes the world ending for you to wake up on time. I've never seen you up before 7am. Ever."

"It's gonna be a nice day," Clint said, even though the sun hadn't fully risen yet. "You gotta enjoy as much as you can."

Chase's eyes widened and he suddenly stood, clutching his phone in his hand. "You two had sex."

"What?" Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I dunno –"

"Nope, I don't wanna know," Chase said, waving his arms. "Don't need to know. Forget I said anything."

Chase's reaction made Clint want to laugh. Even though he was only six years older than them, Chase often referred to them as kids, and Clint supposed he felt a little protective of them. It was especially true for Natasha, because even though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, Chase had been keeping a closer eye on her ever since her breakdown.

Clint thought that the older man might even consider Natasha like a younger sister, despite all of their differences and the way she had accidentally overturned his whole life.

"It's just a good day," Clint said as the coffee pot finished.

"Whatever," Chase groaned. His phone started to ring and the relief on his face was palpable. "No assassin babies, okay?"

"Course not," Clint agreed seriously, covering his mouth so Chase couldn't see his grin.

Chase went to his own room, and Clint took the juice and coffee back into the bedroom to see if Natasha was awake. She was sitting against the headboard, running her fingers through her hair to untangle it. She had opened the curtains and was wearing his shirt, and the rising sun was making her glow.

She smiled at him and shook her head no to the juice, waiting until he was beside her to pull them under the covers. They peeked at each other over the top of the blanket, and then Natasha was laughing; giggling really, the girlish sound like music to his ears. Clint laughed too because he was happy, _so _happy to be with her cocooned and safe.

"Was it a little awkward?" he asked around the bursts of laughter that erupted from his chest.

Natasha nodded, her cheeks flushed. "But is us. Just us. So is perfect too."

"It was my first time," Clint told her, though he thought that she would probably already know.

Despite Natasha keeping a few mission-related secrets from him, they generally told each other everything, and Coulson hadn't been lying when he said that Clint was an open book. It was difficult for Natasha to share her thoughts and feelings, and it was something they would undoubtedly be working on for years to come. Things like this, though, were sacred, and Natasha was right: it was perfect because it was the two of them, together.

"They teach us seducing," she said gruffly, playing with his fingers. "But I don't… Is not like this. So is my first time, too. First time that count."

Clint could see in her eyes that she was slipping away from him, her fingers now twisting his enough that it hurt a little. He gently pulled his hand away so that they weren't touching, worried that contact might send her spiralling.

"Hey, Tasha," he said softly. "Come back to me, _milaya_."

After a moment Natasha blinked and then offered him a half smile, eyes clear again. Clint slowly brushed his thumb over the small scab on her lip. She had zoned out once or twice last night and he had done the same thing then, stopping until she could tell him to keep going and making sure they were on the same page.

"Is perfect," she whispered, then brought her hands up to sign. _They can't ruin everything. I'm so happy and I… It's ours. Am I making sense?_

_I'm happy too, _Clint signed. _And I think you make all the sense in the world._

_We can stay this way for a while, right? _She asked. _We don't have anything to do. Maybe we can go to the museum later._

_The museum sounds great_, Clint replied. _I think we deserve a lie-in. _

Natasha leant forward and kissed him gently, then rolled into his arms with a laugh that sent a jolt straight to Clint's heart. He held her, breathed her in, felt all of his missing pieces from the last month slot back into place. The coffee was going cold but he just didn't care, not when he could stay like this.

They had a lot to discuss. Clint knew the conversations might be difficult, but they needed to have them to be able to move forward. He didn't think about any of it, though. For now, it was the two of them, together; the rising sun warming their faces, bodies wound together and all the time in the world.

* * *

Yesli ty tak govorish = if you say so


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

hey guys, i'm so sorry for such a late update! to make up for it, i'm gonna post the next chapter tomorrow, since i had to split this chapter in half! :)

i hope you enjoy it, and i'm sorry i couldn't make their happiness last just a lil longer :( it's all leading up to something, so i hope you can forgive me!

thank you always for your reviews and support! hope you enjoy xx

* * *

Clint watched warily as Natasha twisted on the bed beside him, her face screwed tightly in pain. Her hands were curled into fists, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before she lashed out, so he quickly stood and put his pants on, stepping away from the bed.

Natasha's fist slammed down on his pillow, directly where his face had been seconds ago. She moaned, then threw the same arm over her face as though she was protecting herself. Clint frowned, feeling his heart break the longer he stood there. Whilst Natasha had nightmares regularly, it had been a months since she had last had such a violent one. Usually, he was safe to wake her up, or she would wake herself up before it got too bad.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to watch. Natasha was crying, muttering too quietly for him to hear; she tossed from side to side, legs kicking into the air like her life depended on it. Clint didn't like waking her up from these kinds of nightmares, not after what had happened years ago when he had accidentally grabbed her. He hadn't made that mistake again.

He briefly wondered if he should put his shirt on too, then realised that Natasha was wearing it again. He was procrastinating, worried that waking her would be the wrong thing to do, but then she pressed her fists into her eyes and screamed.

Lucky scrambled up from where he had been sleeping on his mat, leaping onto the bed before Clint could even process what had happened. The puppy jumped onto Natasha and Clint sprung into action, snatching Lucky from where he had been about to burrow against her stomach. Natasha woke up with a gasp, her whole body moving seemingly before her brain registered what was happening, and in less than a second she was on the ground and crawling away from him.

"Nat!" he called, hoping to filter through whatever was happening inside of her head and catch her attention. "Hey, Nat, easy. It's okay."

The door flew open as Chase burst into the room, brandishing a plastic spatula. "What's wrong?"

Natasha stopped moving at the sight of Chase, but the sound she made tore Clint's heart in half. She curled in on herself, hands tucked protectively over her head, and started to sob.

"It's just a nightmare," Clint said to both of them. He moved slowly towards the door, holding Lucky out in front of him for Chase to take. "It's fine. Lucky woke her up. It's okay."

Chase accepted the dog. "It doesn't –"

"I know," Clint snapped. He let out a shaky breath and scrubbed at his still tired eyes. "Okay. I know."

Chase didn't say anything else, taking Lucky with him as he left. He didn't close the door, and Clint was secretly thankful; the last thing he needed was for Natasha to think she was trapped anywhere, and at least if she did make a run for it Chase would be able to help Clint find her.

He took a deep breath and lowered himself onto his hands and knees, moving across the bedroom towards her carefully. She was rocking herself on the spot, and he ached to reach out to her and make it all okay.

"Hey, Tasha," he called softly, keeping his voice steady. "It's just me. Its just Clint. Can you hear me?"

Natasha shuddered, shaking her head quickly from side to side. Clint didn't know what she was trying to say, or if she even knew what was happening. He needed to find out where her head was to know how to help her.

"S'okay, Tash," he assured her. "It was just a bad dream. You're safe, kay? Can you open your eyes and tell me what you see?"

For a second Clint was sure that Natasha wasn't going to respond to him, and fear clawed at his throat. He didn't know what to do if she didn't wake up properly, apart from grabbing her and hoping it would snap her out of whatever hell she was stuck in. He didn't want to do it, but slowly stretched his arm out towards her, reaching for her shoulder.

Natasha peeked out at him from under her hands, eyes red and watery. Clint froze, then lowered his arm back to the ground and tried to meet her gaze. Her face was glassy, her expression stuck somewhere between fear and confusion. Her eyes flicked around the room as though it were the first time she was seeing it.

"What do you see?" Clint prompted again.

"Is dark," Natasha said, her voice hoarse. Clint shuffled a little closer to her, straining to hear her. She flinched and shook her head again. "I don't _know_."

"Shhh, it's okay," Clint murmured. "We're in Washington. Do you remember what's in Washington?"

Natasha drew in a deep, choking breath, tugging on her hair. Clint watched her chest heave as she struggled to breathe, and moved over to her side before he even realised what he was doing. She jumped as he rubbed her back, but he couldn't watch this and not do anything in case she ended up hurting herself.

"Breathe, Tash," he murmured to her, applying more pressure to her back in the hopes it would shock her into drawing a breath. "C'mon, nice and deep."

"_Ya ne mogu_," Natasha moaned. Her whole body shook, and she pulled her hands from her hair to instead push herself up onto her knees. In the dim light of the room Clint could see that her face was flushed, silvery tears dripping from her cheeks.

"You can," Clint said, moving with her so he could instead grip her hands tightly. "Watch me. In and out. C'mon, Tasha, you gotta breathe."

Natasha clung to his hands, but managed to draw some air into her lungs. Clint didn't know how much time passed before she finally started to relax again, shoulders hunching as her breaths became steadier. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles until she pulled away again, and then sat watching her warily.

"You okay, Nat?" he asked carefully, not wanting to push her too far again. "It was just a bad dream. You're safe."

Natasha reached up and hit herself in the face, then did it again and again, harder each time. Clint grabbed her arm to stop her, but she immediately switched hands and kept smacking her palm against her cheek. Blood trickled out of her nose from the force, and Clint curled himself around her even as she struggled to break free from him.

"Stop, stop, stop!" she cried, twisting in his arms.

"Nat, it's okay," he told her, keeping his arms wrapped around her torso so she couldn't move her hands. "You're safe. You're in Washington. Come back to me."

Natasha threw her head back, narrowly avoiding Clint's shoulder. He felt hot tears burn the back of his eyes as he held her, just waiting for her to get whatever was happening out of her system. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

"It was a bad dream, Tasha," he said. "C'mon, love. We're safe here."

"Home," Natasha choked out, finally going slack in his arms. He cautiously reached up to brush the sweaty hair off her forehead, then stroked his thumb over the angry red marks on her cheek.

"Yea, home," he murmured, rocking her. "You're safe, you're okay."

"Home," Natasha insisted. "_Nyet_. I am –"

"Washington," Clint elaborated, feeling a sick feeling of dread settle in his stomach. "We're safe in Washington. Me and you and Chase and Lucky."

"Washington," Natasha echoed. She pressed her face against his chest and Clint felt her blood against his skin. "Is bad dream."

"It's okay," Clint assured her. "It's not real."

Natasha nodded, then tried to slam her head against her own knee. Clint swore under his breath and wrapped himself tighter around her, one of his legs holding both of hers down. He didn't know why she was trying to hurt herself, or what the nightmare could have possibly been about. She had reacted this way after she had been triggered in Brooklyn, but even then it hadn't been this violent.

"It's okay," Clint whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek despite his best efforts to hold them in. "Don't hurt yourself, Tasha. You're okay. It's safe here."

Clint didn't loosen his hold when she grew still this time, rocking her in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He felt her breath on his neck as it evened out, and it shocked him to realise that she was asleep again, her nose still dripping tiny droplets of blood onto him.

The room was silent, and Clint finally let himself relax. He carefully untangled his legs from hers, pulling her into a more comfortable position on his lap. Natasha curled into him, and he watched her eyes twitch beneath her eyelids. She was dreaming again, but her face was calm for now.

"'S'all good," Clint said, mostly to himself. "It was… it was just a nightmare."

"Some nightmare," Chase said, and Clint glanced over to see him standing in the doorway. "I could hear her crying."

Clint nodded, hastily wiping the last of the moisture from his cheeks as Chase came into the room and sat down on the ground beside them. Natasha's lips parted slightly and she sighed, head sliding down his chest just slightly. She was only wearing his shirt and her underwear, but Clint figured it would be the least of her worries if she happened to wake up and notice Chase.

"Everything alright?" Chase asked. He looked tired, and for the first time it occurred to Clint that Chase probably woke up as often as they did when Natasha had a nightmare.

"It wasn't great," Clint admitted. "I'm not sure she was ever fully awake. It was kinda like… sleepwalking or something. She spoke a little but it wasn't really coherent. I think she's anxious about going back to Iowa, and maybe it brought up some bad memories."

Clint had been the one to suggest going to Iowa last week, and whilst Natasha had agreed with him she had been a little distant ever since. He wasn't looking forward to the trip either, but wanted to get their things out of storage and move them somewhere else now that S.H.I.E.L.D knew where he had grown up.

A part of him was almost looking forward to going home, though. They had left in such a rush that Clint hadn't really had time to process leaving, and he was interested to see if the houses were still standing. He was a little worried they might run into Barney, but was hopeful it might also bring them some closure.

"Could've also been the sex," Clint added after a moment. Even though they took things slowly, they were still just teenagers having fun and trying new things, and sex was something they generally both enjoyed.

There had been a few times that they had stopped when Natasha became too overwhelmed, but she had never regressed or flashbacked like this, and more often than not it was her who initiated it anyway. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty, even though he knew none of it was his fault.

Clint looked at Chase, expecting him to say something about not wanting to hear about what they got up to in their own time, but the older man was staring at Natasha with his jaw clenched.

Clint swallowed. "I guess… Maybe the combination of the two…"

"I wish her uncle was still alive so I could kill him myself," Chase snapped. "Wish I could find every one of those bastards and just…"

"I know," Clint said, and started rocking Natasha again. "I feel the same way."

"Why's she bleeding?" Chase asked.

Clint glanced down, then gently swiped his finger under her nose to remove some of the blood. "She hit herself."

"Damn," Chase said, eyebrows raised in shock. "Did she mean it?"

"I don't know," Clint groaned. "I've never seen her like that before. She was really trying to hurt herself."

Natasha made a small noise in the back of her throat. Clint ran his hand down her back, smoothing out her hair as he went. His legs were beginning to go numb but there was no way he could move right now.

"We still going to Iowa, then?" Chase asked.

"Yea," Clint replied, blowing out a breath of air. "I think we just need to get it over with. Once we have our stuff we can work out our next move, but I'm leaning towards another Red Room investigation."

"I like that idea too," Chase agreed. Now that he knew what had happened to Natasha, and what was still potentially happening to other young girls, Chase had expressed his desire to shut down their operation several times. "I've already got some names and places. It's not a lot, but it's a start."

Clint felt Natasha tense a split second before she moved, grabbing her wrist in mid air before she could hit her face. She moaned, pushing her head hard against Clint's chest, features pinched in pain. He braced himself for another panic attack but she only twisted feebly in his arms, trying to free her hands so she could hit herself.

"Shhh, Tasha," Clint murmured, lips close to her ear. "You're okay. Nice and easy."

Her eyes were still closed as she struggled, nails now digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. Clint didn't have enough hands to stop her, and Chase looked caught between wanting to help and wanting to leave. After another second though she relaxed against him, head lolling on his shoulder.

"It's different from other times," Chase commented.

"There could've been a new trigger and we just didn't realise at the time," Clint said. "Coulson said they had ways of getting rid of that kinda stuff but… I didn't want to tell him about it all. How bad it could be."

"S.H.I.E.L.D sounds better everyday," Chase commented, pushing himself to his feet. "You need a hand getting her to bed?"

"Gonna stay here a while," Clint grunted. "I don't wanna make it worse."

Chase nodded and left them alone. Clint knew they had an early flight and that it would be an emotional day tomorrow, but he wasn't ready to give up the tiny shred of peace they had managed to settle into. Chase was right; S.H.I.E.L.D _did _sound better, especially if they could help Natasha.

He didn't want to admit it, but she had been getting worse, and they had no idea how to deal with it. Maybe after tonight he would be able to convince her to give it a go.


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

here's the next chapter like promised! this is all beginning to build up to the end of this story (which will have a sequel, don't worry!)

i hope you enjoy! gonna have some action coming up soon :)

thank you for your reviews, i love to know what you think about the chapters! hope you enjoy this one xx

* * *

Clint woke up when the car stopped moving. He was slouched against the door, legs spread out over the backseat and Lucky curled on his chest. Natasha was in the front with her feet up on the dash, and turned around in her seat to smile at him softly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He had slept for most of their flight, and all of the drive from the airport into Waverly. Lucky had too, but he attributed that to the fact that it was the puppy's first time flying, whereas Clint was just exhausted after sitting on the ground all night; in the end, moving Natasha had seemed counterintuitive, and so they had stayed there until she had groggily woke up in the morning.

She didn't remember the nightmare, or what had caused her to give herself a nosebleed, and Clint was almost grateful that whatever had upset her so much hadn't lingered. He had told her everything, though, watching the fear on her face as she realised that she hadn't been in control of her body. She seemed to be doing okay though, all things considered.

"Here," Natasha said. She unbuckled her seatbelt and glanced out the windshield, eyes narrowed. "I think is same as before."

Clint took stock of his surroundings and couldn't help but agree. The main street looked exactly the same as the last time he had been there, and if he squinted far enough up the road he could see his father's old butchers. The windows were boarded over, he could tell even from a distance.

"Dunno what I expected," Chase said, opening the car door. "Your stories made it seem so…"

"Horrible?" Clint guessed. He got out of the car with Lucky and stretched, then draped his arm over Natasha's shoulders so he could pull her into his side and press a kiss to her temple. "How you feeling?"

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, not one for PDA. "Fine."

"Whatever you say," Clint sighed, but he wasn't going to push it. He snagged Lucky's leash before he could wander out onto the road, letting the puppy sniff around on the grass. They had considered leaving Lucky behind, but weren't really sure if they would be heading back to La Conner or not. Clint wasn't keen on asking strangers to watch him, either. They didn't want to draw unwanted attention to themselves.

Natasha turned and left, heading into the storage facility so she could grab the bag they had left there last time. Clint watched her go, not convinced she was telling the truth only because he didn't feel fine himself. Being back in Waverly was easy, but he felt like it shouldn't be.

Chase shut the driver's door and leant against the side of the car, regarding him. "How are _you _feeling?"

"Fine," Clint shrugged. "I'm gonna go see my old house."

"That a good idea?" Chase asked.

"Well, if I was seeing a therapist they might say it would bring closure or something, right?"

Chase laughed. "Whatever. You need me to drive you there?"

"Nah, s'all good," Clint said, waving him off. "You do whatever you were planning on doing. There's this café, Ed's, down the road here. We'll meet you there."

Lucky whined, watching people across the road go in and out of stores. Clint bent down to scratch behind his ears, chuckling as the dog rolled onto his back so he could get belly scratches instead. Clint was proud of how well Lucky had travelled; he had been in the car with them a few times, but flying was new and he hadn't seem nonplussed to be loaded away from them on the plane.

Natasha returned with a duffel bag swung over her shoulder, and she offloaded it to Chase as soon as she was close enough. "Is done."

"Great," Clint said, passing her Lucky's leash. "I just have to get one thing."

He went into the duffel bag, rummaging around the Harry Potter books and Yulia to find his mum's old camera. There was still a little film left, and he thought it might be nice to get it developed once it was used up. The photos would either be good or bad, but there was no way of knowing unless he at least tried.

They said goodbye to Chase and started the walk to the dirt road in silence. Clint felt real fear bubble in his stomach as they reached the paddocks and picked their way through the long grass. Clint didn't know what to expect, and a part of him was worried they would bump into Barney. They let Lucky off the leash, watching him bound ahead of them in excitement.

"What you are wanting to find?" Natasha asked. She walked steadily beside him, the only giveaway that she was nervous being the way she twisted her fingers together. Her cheeks were red and tender, the left one slightly discoloured from her assault against herself the previous night.

"I don't know," Clint admitted, glancing at her. For a second she looked like she had all those years ago, a little girl with a halo of red hair and eyes that sparked with mischief, but then he blinked and she was the Natasha of now, older and more world-weary. "Guess I just wanted to see."

Natasha didn't say anything else, and Clint was content to walk along the road without saying anything either. It was a strange feeling, being there now. If things had been normal they would be graduating this year; he briefly wondered what Natasha would have worn to prom, if he would have been brave enough to ask her. If they hadn't been brought together the way that they had, would they even be friends?

Clint's house came into view and his stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly. Natasha reached out and squeezed his hand, letting him entwine their fingers for support. They moved slowly now, as though they were stuck in mud, and Lucky yapped at them to catch him. The sun was warm on Clint's head and everything smelt exactly the way it used to. The only difference with the house was the foreclosure sign on the lawn.

"Looks like Barney left too," Clint said softly. He hadn't really expected his brother to stick around, but was still surprised to realise that the house hadn't sold yet.

"The steps…" Natasha began, walking over until she was right in front of them. Clint waited to see if she would climb them but she just stood at the bottom, staring at the front door. "I remember."

"Huh," Clint said, leaning against the railing. "They don't look as big as they used to."

When he was a kid the stairs seemed to go on forever. They had felt huge even when he was older, and could remember how long it felt like he was falling down them the night his parents died. Lucky climbed up clumsily, going right up to the front door and sniffing around and then looking back at them to see if they would follow. When they didn't he jumped down, following his nose around the side of the house instead.

Natasha hesitantly took a step forward, then sat down when she was a couple of stairs up. She grinned at him softly, head cocked to the side and hair falling in waves over her shoulder. Clint almost felt like crying when he realised just how far they had come from the first time they had sat on the stairs together. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Stay there," he said, reaching into his pocket for the camera. Natasha rolled her eyes, but her smile was sweet as he took the photo. He had never loved anyone as much as he loved her.

"Now is you," Natasha said, dusting off her jeans and jumping off the stairs. She took the camera from him, poking her tongue out as she shoved him closer to the house. "Okay, bird brain. Smile."

At the sound of Natasha's voice, Lucky came tearing back to them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He jumped around Clint's legs for a moment, then settled by his side, his one eye focused entirely on Natasha. Clint didn't want to sit on the stairs, so he stood a little awkwardly with his hand on Lucky's head, trying not to look like he was in pain. From the look on Natasha's face he wasn't doing a very good job, but she snapped the picture anyway.

"Right," Clint said gruffly, clearing his throat. "Guess that's all there is to see, then."

Natasha shielded her eyes from the sun and glanced down the road towards her old house. He wasn't about to suggest going down there, and he was more than a little relieved when she finally turned away. He saw the tension in her shoulders and wrapped her into a hug, resting his chin atop her head.

"We're okay," he told her. "We got out of here."

"He can't hurt me," Natasha said. "Not again."

"Not anymore," Clint agreed. "No one can."

"I am sorry about your mother," Natasha murmured. "I like her. Even at end, when she is not happy. I like her."

Clint felt his throat tighten with emotion and nodded. "Yea. I liked her too."

* * *

By the time they made it back to the café, Clint was emotionally exhausted. They had taken one last photo of themselves at the house, Natasha tucked into his side as he held the camera out in front of them, and now it was late afternoon and he was starving.

Chase wasn't there yet, so they tied Lucky by the door and went inside to order some muffins and a couple of coffees. Natasha chose a booth close to the door where she could see Lucky, waiting while Clint went to the bathroom, and it was when he was coming back to the table that he saw them.

At first he didn't recognise the two girls walking through the front door, but then one of them smiled and waved so enthusiastically that it was impossible _not _to remember.

"Laura?" he asked incredulously as they quickly came towards him. "Rachel, I… What are you guys doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Laura gushed, pulling him into a tight hug. "Oh my god, Clint. It's been ages."

"Nearly two years," Clint confirmed, smiling. "Wow. How are you guys?"

"Oh, you know, just stressed about finals," Rachel said. "There's a lot of pressure. I'm trying to ignore it."

"We're drowning ourselves in coffee," Laura said seriously. "We're starting our cram early."

"Right," Clint laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Wow. This is so unexpected."

"Did you really think you wouldn't see us if you came back?" Laura teased. "Or were you trying to avoid us?"

"No, never," Clint said truthfully. "I just… I didn't even think. Life has been so crazy and…"

He trailed off, not sure what he could possibly say to describe what they had been doing for the last couple of years. Whilst Laura and Rachel had been preparing to graduate, Clint had been shot and Natasha had discovered a plethora of triggers buried deep in her psyche. It wasn't exactly something he could compare, or ever tell them about.

"Is that Natalia?" Rachel asked, pointing over Clint's shoulder to where Natasha still sat. "Oh my god. It is."

Laura squealed, and it was loud enough for Natasha to glance over sharply. Her expression softened just slightly as she noticed them, and then she stood fluidly and made her way over to them with the bag of muffins and coffees. Clint noticed the exact moment Laura saw the bruise on Natasha's face, and he suddenly remembered that they had left Waverly looking much like they did now.

"Hello," Natasha said cautiously, handing Clint his coffee. "Is nice to see you."

Laura didn't try to hug Natasha this time, maybe sensing that things had changed too much. "I can't believe the two of you are still together."

Rachel coughed, elbowing Laura in the side, but Clint just laughed. "She can't get rid of me that easily."

"How have you been?" Rachel asked. "What are you guys even doing here?"

"We stop for coffee," Natasha said carefully. "And for stupid dog to go outside."

"That's _your _puppy out there?" Rachel gushed, grabbing Clint's arm. "I love him. I've literally never seen a cuter dog in my life."

"He's adorable," Laura agreed, then looked at Clint seriously. "I was worried about you guys, to be honest. We both were. It's nice to see that you're doing okay."

Clint opened his mouth to reply when Chase suddenly poked his head through the door, pushing his sunglasses down his nose to properly survey the scene before him. "You guys good?"

"Fine," Clint responded. "Just ran into some old friends."

Rachel and Laura smiled, but Chase was focused on Natasha. "You got a minute, Red?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Chase said nonchalantly, but Clint could tell he was trying to act cool. "Just found some old friends, too."

Clint felt his blood go cold, suddenly worried that they had been followed all the way out to Iowa. Chase's smile was tight, but he didn't seem to be panicking, and when Clint looked out the window he could only see Lucky, looking miserable at being left out.

Natasha nodded once, then turned to Clint. "Okay. Maybe we go?"

"Right," Clint said. He smiled sadly at Laura and Rachel, who both looked a little disappointed. "Wish we could've had a real catch-up."

"Here," Rachel said, reaching into her handbag for a pen and paper. She quickly wrote something down, then pressed it into Clint's palm. "You can always call us. Or text us. Or send us a letter, I guess. I'm going to Wartburg College."

"Sounds good," Clint said. He gave them both a hug, a little sad to leave them so soon but more worried about what Chase could have possibly found out. "Good luck on your finals."

He followed Natasha out of the café, retrieving Lucky and letting the dog jump into the car before him. Laura and Rachel watched them, gushing over Lucky through the window, and he waved as they pulled out of the parking lot. It was only once they were on their way out of Waverly and the puppy was asleep again that Clint felt it was safe to speak.

"What's going on?"

Chase tapped his fingers against the wheel, then quickly glanced at Natasha in the passenger seat beside him. "I accidentally stumbled across something. A Red Room operation in Virginia."

"How you find that?" Natasha asked.

"I've been snooping around, okay," Chase admitted. "Ever since you tried to kill me. The second time, not the first."

"First time is not count," Natasha muttered sullenly. "I am drugged."

"_Anyway_," Chase continued. "While you guys were reminiscing the past or whatever, I was at the library using their ancient computers to follow a lead."

"And?" Clint prompted, hating where this was going. He felt nervous, and suddenly couldn't finish his muffin.

"I think they want to replicate the Super Soldier serum," Chase said carefully. "There was a girl at Culver University. She was trying to access old files by some guy named Banner. He was… unsuccessful, but on the right track."

"Super Soldier?" Clint said incredulously. "What does that even mean?"

"Like Captain America," Natasha said, shrugging at the look on Clint's face. "We learn of him. He is real."

"Yea, he was absolutely a real dude," Chase gushed. "He beat up so many Nazis. Then he crashed his ship into the ice or whatever, and they haven't found him since. But still. Guy used to be 95 pounds before they pumped him full of that serum. He was 240 when he went into the ice."

"You know lots," Natasha remarked. "You have crush?"

"What girl?" Clint interrupted them, even though he thought he would already know.

"I barely got her photo from security footage," Chase warned. "She's good. Natasha-level good."

"They were all trained the same," Clint said slowly, as if on autopilot. "Where's the photo?"

Natasha was already looking through the glove compartment, obviously coming to the same conclusion that Clint had. She pulled a large photograph out, and the sound she made upon seeing it was completely feral. She twisted in her seat to thrust the glossy image at him, and he forced himself to look at it.

Clint felt his heart sink as his fear was confirmed, because even though the photo was blurry it was impossible not to recognise the blonde hair and round face. The girl in the photo was Yelena.


	50. Chapter Fifty

this chapter is so late i'm sorry! :( life has been crazy but anyway, i know this chapter kinda throws off the real mcu timeline with the whole super soldier thing but it is au!

there's only 10 chapters left after this one, so things are gonna all resolve soon! there's some non-graphic actiony stuff in this chapter - i hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for all of your support! i can't wait to finish this fic and start the sequel!

* * *

"Are you sure she's actually gonna show?"

Even from where he was sitting at the other end of the room, Clint could see Natasha's eye roll at his teasing question. He smiled to himself, hiding it behind his hand and pushing his face further into his book until she disappeared from view. He liked the lazy student cover she had assigned him; he had spent the better part of the afternoon napping, whilst Natasha and Chase kept an eye on things.

Chase was on his laptop, trying to discreetly watch the security footage from the labs. "Are you sure she doesn't know we're already here?"

Natasha huffed in Clint's ear, as loud as if she were sitting right beside him. "Of course she know we are here. I am waiting for her to come."

Clint could just imagine the look on Chase's face as he realised that Natasha's plan was a little different to his. They knew that Yelena hadn't been able to access the files the first time she had visited Culver University, and Natasha had been adamant that she would be back. Ever since they had left Iowa last week she had been leaving a subtle trail, hoping Yelena would realise that they were coming to find her.

For whatever reason, Natasha believed that Yelena was like her; not brainwashed to the point where she couldn't form her own thoughts, or make her own decisions. She hadn't really said much, but Clint could tell that she hoped the younger girl would help them tear down the Red Room and end the torture once and for all.

They had flown back to Brooklyn after Iowa, checking Lucky in to his usual kennel before bouncing around a couple of other states to make it harder for them to be followed by anyone that wasn't Red Room trained. The three of them had agreed that letting the Red Room get their hands on something like the Super Soldier serum would only lead to pain, both for a new generation of Black Widows and whoever their targets were. It was just a matter now of stopping Yelena, or getting the documents before she could.

The door of the library opened, and Clint discreetly peeked around his book to see if Yelena was finally gracing them with her presence. He sighed when he realised it was just another student, and sat back on his chair until he was balanced on two legs. Waiting was boring.

Clint had to admit he was a little nervous, but only because they didn't really know exactly what they were up against. Chase had been trying to follow Red Room leads for a little while now, and Yelena was the only one who had actually cropped up on his radar. They had thought that she was working on an operation Chase had briefly stumbled across, and now they weren't sure if she was actually doing it all of her own volition.

It was their second day at the university, and Clint was almost glad he had never graduated. They didn't attend classes, and spent most of their time walking between rooms and pretending to study, but it was annoying having to pretend to be a student when he couldn't even remember the last thing he had learnt in school.

He glanced over as he saw movement by the door again, and watched as Natasha packed up her things and suddenly left the room. His chair legs hit the floor with a _thunk_ again, drawing unwanted attention to himself as he scrambled to follow her. He hadn't noticed Yelena, but that didn't mean that the girl had tried to sneak past them.

Chase hadn't noticed Natasha's departure in time, and Clint shot him a look as he passed him. The older man seemed just as confused as Clint was, but he wasn't about to stop and find out his thoughts on the whole ordeal. He needed to find Natasha before she became lost in the maze of hallways that made up the university.

"Tash!" he called, jogging after her.

She looked over her shoulder at him, face pulled into a scowl at the volume of his voice, and he immediately slowed down a little, closing the distance between them with a few big strides.

"What're you doing?" he hissed, matching the fast pace she had set.

"She annoy me," Natasha muttered. "Where she is?"

"I dunno," Clint said. "You were the one who told us she would come."

"She should be," Natasha snapped. "I don't know."

Clint grabbed Natasha by the elbow and swung them into the next door they came across, ignoring her grunt of protest. They weren't going to get anywhere if they only banked on Yelena showing up; Clint just wanted to try and get the serum, or ideally, destroy it, and they didn't need another Russian assassin to help them do that.

He opened his mouth to speak when he suddenly realised that they weren't the only two in the room.

"This is awkward," Yelena said.

Natasha dropped her decoy textbooks to the ground, instead moving around him so she could slam Yelena against the wall. Clint immediately reached for his bow, fingers grasping empty air as he remembered that it was still tucked securely in the backpack he had left in the library. He silently cursed, feeling panic bubble in his chest.

"What you are doing?" Natasha demanded, forearm pressed against the younger girl's throat.

"I steal, obviously," Yelena croaked. She tilted her head to the left, and Clint followed the trajectory to find a body on the ground, lying in a pool of blood.

"What did he do?" Clint sneered. He wasn't comfortable being around Yelena without his bow, regardless of what Natasha thought of her.

"You are still with him?" Yelena asked.

Natasha let her go, surveying the body with disinterest. "He is my partner."

Clint didn't know if she was talking about them being a team together or if she was implying their relationship, but it still made his heart swell to hear her say it. Yelena glanced between the two of them, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Good for you Natalia," she said.

"Shouldn't you have the door locked?" Clint said. "You know, in case someone else just walks in?"

"I am leaving," Yelena said, moving to step around him, but he planted himself firmly and stared her down. "What he is doing?"

"What _you _are doing?" Natasha countered.

Yelena huffed. "I want serum. I want to destroy. I know what they are plan."

"To use on girls?" Natasha said. Her eyes flickered over to Clint and he gave her a reassuring smile. "We want to destroy too."

"Great!" Yelena said sarcastically. "We are team now. Let's go."

"How do we know you're not gonna stab us in the back the second we help you get it?" Clint blurted. "Sorry, but this is all a little too coincidental."

Clint didn't even know what room they were standing in, or who the person that Yelena had killed was. There were a few computers in the room, but other than that there was nothing to suggest that this was the place where they had been trying to replicate the serum.

Yelena moved even closer to him, until they were standing toe-to-toe. She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and pointed at a pink scar, about as long as one of Clint's arrowheads. It was a little wonky, but he understood what she was trying to tell him.

Natasha peeked at it over his shoulder. "How you know?"

"After you kill Ivan they send me," Yelena murmured. "I follow car until I see is not you. Is just… trick. You are smarter than me. Then after you destroy academy, I go back and they… are not happy you are gone again. So I run."

"Is not that easy," Natasha challenged.

"No," Yelena agreed. "I think you know."

"Clint cut mine," Natasha admitted.

Something flickered over Yelena's face before she pulled her features into a perfect blank mask again. "We need to go."

"Still never told us what _he_ did," Clint muttered as he followed the two girls out of the room. He didn't know how long they would have until someone found the body, or if Yelena was even telling the truth about everything. Just because she had removed her own tracker didn't mean she wasn't still working for the Red Room.

"I try to get formula from computer in lab," Yelena said as they walked briskly down the hall. "Is hard though."

"He is smart scientist," Natasha deadpanned. "You are taught hacking by man who only shower one time in month."

Yelena turned to Natasha, frowning. "He teach you too!"

Natasha rolled her eyes, and Clint couldn't help but notice how much they acted like sisters, even if the situation they had found each other in was horrendous. He couldn't believe that the just a few short years ago Natasha had hated Yelena, though now he couldn't be sure if she had just been pretending.

"What's the game plan then?" Clint asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He wanted to believe Yelena because he believed Natasha, but the whole thing just seemed off to him. Even Chase finding the Red Room mission when he did seemed too coincidental.

"We see if limited hacking skills are enough this time," Yelena said. "You really are partner with him?"

"_Da_," Natasha replied, and Clint could detect a slight irritation in her tone. "He is best friend. _My_ best friend."

"_Ty potselovala yego?_" Yelena asked, and Clint rolled his eyes.

"I can speak Russian too, ya know."

Neither girl replied, though Natasha snuck him a tiny smile as they rounded the corner and continued out of the building towards the labs. Clint vaguely wondered where Chase was, and hoped that he had the good sense to grab Clint's backpack too before making his way to the lab. The plan had always been to meet there; they needed Chase if they wanted to access the documents, since everything was so protected.

Chase had told them that Doctor Banner's attempt had been unsuccessful, and that something had gone so wrong that the government had tried to cover the whole thing up. The documents were apparently still stored at the university, hiding in plain sight.

The courtyard was eerily empty. Clint kept his eyes on the tops of the buildings, trusting that Natasha and Yelena would alert him to anything on the ground. He needed his bow, if only to reassure him. He needed Chase too, so they could just hurry up and get out of Virginia.

He saw the glint from the rifle a second before the red dot appeared on Yelena's head; he leapt for her, a shout pulling itself from his lips without him really knowing what he was trying to say. He prayed Natasha would duck, prayed she would have the good sense to get out of the way as him and Yelena crashed to the ground as the sound of the shot rang out.

Everything went to hell after that.

Clint scrambled across the pavement, dragging Yelena by her arm as they took cover beneath an awning. Natasha was still out in the open, but she had her gun drawn and was crouched behind a flower bed, and Clint trusted that she would be able to keep herself safe for the time being.

He turned to Yelena, panic and anger flashing hot through his veins. "Is this a set up?"

"No!" Yelena snapped, pulling out her own gun.

"Is this a set up?" Clint repeated, fingers digging into her bicep. "Did you know about this?"

"No!" Yelena said again. "I do not know. They want me dead too."

They sat glaring at each other, both of them breathing heavily. Clint looked over her face, trying to find any hints that she was lying, but she was as good as Natasha and gave nothing away. If anything, there was panic swimming in her eyes, too.

"I need a weapon," Clint told her, and accepted the second gun she handed him. It wasn't his weapon of choice, but he could make do until they found Chase.

Yelena watched as Natasha fired at someone out of their line of sight, and then darted across to join her at the flowerbed. After a second, Clint followed, not looking anywhere around him until he was squished in beside them. He poked his head up just slightly, only seeing one body between them and the labs.

Natasha elbowed him so she could sign. _There's still one on the roof. We need to take her out before we get inside. There will be more coming. _

_Red Room girls? _Clint asked, cursing silently as Natasha nodded grimly. He didn't want to kill them if they were just brainwashed kids, but he also knew that if it came down to it, they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in him.

_She won't come down unless we give her a reason to, _Natasha signed, and then to his horror, vaulted over the flower bed and started sprinting towards the lab.

"Shit," he said, about to stand to follow her when Yelena yanked on his wrist to stop him. "Hey, cut it out!"

"She is distraction," Yelena said. "Girl knows that. She comes for us now."

"That makes no sense," Clint muttered. "If she knows Nat is the distraction then why would she come for us?"

"She think we come for her," Yelena said, then stood up fluidly and fired a single shot.

Clint turned around to watch the girl fall from where she had been climbing down the pipe on the side of the building. She hit the ground and stayed there, and the courtyard suddenly seemed impossibly still and quiet. He touched his hearing aids out of habit, even though he knew they were working.

Yelena walked over to the girl, kicking her gun away. "Katya. Hmm."

"You knew her?" Clint asked carefully.

"Yes," Yelena said sharply. "I don't forget."

Suddenly, Yelena looked much younger. Clint wanted to say something but he didn't think anything could make up for what she had experienced in her short life.

"Do you remember everything?" he said instead.

Yelena pushed her fringe out of her face and began to walk towards the lab. Clint hurried to follow her, not wanting to miss out on hearing her answer, if she actually gave him one. Despite his original dislike for her, there was something about Yelena that was making him warm up to her.

"Yes," she admitted eventually. She peered down at the second body, another girl who looked far too young to be where she was. "They take away parents, all things from before. I remember everything from then to now. Natalia is… only one who loses more."

Clint swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, thankful for her honesty. It hurt him to know that Natasha had been the only one who had had her memory used against her, but he reminded himself that she wasn't there anymore. They were okay.

They didn't say anything else as they finally entered the lab, and Clint felt relief sweep over him to see Natasha with Chase and his backpack. He thrust the gun back at Yelena and went straight to the bag, pulling out his bow and unfolding it in a second. There were some arrows shoved in there too, plus a collapsible quiver that Chase had found somewhere. Clint hadn't asked; he had just been grateful for the gift.

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Is medieval."

"Hey! That's the assassin we're looking for!" Chase yelped, trying to cover the computer screen with his hand. "Someone shoot her or arrest or her or whatever the hell you do."

"She is fine," Natasha told him. "Now hurry. We have little time."

She turned to face Clint, leaning one hip against the lab table, and quirked her lips slightly. He wanted to sweep her into a hug, or kiss her brains out, he couldn't decide. There was still so much adrenaline pumping through his system that he felt like running a marathon.

_You okay_? He signed.

_Yes. I almost expected there to be a little more resistance_, she replied. There was a mischievous glint in her eye that Clint hadn't seen for some time, and it briefly settled his nerves. _Once this is all over, we're not leaving bed for a month_.

_I'm happy with that_, Clint said, grinning like an idiot. _Kinda wanna kiss you right now_.

Yelena glanced between the two of them, eyebrow raised. Natasha just smirked, and Clint didn't know if he was reading too much into her expression, but he thought he saw the hint of a challenge on her lips.

"You get used to it," Chase muttered without taking his eyes off the screen. "Are you guys gonna kidnap her too? I will be setting some ground rules if you are."

"They can try," Yelena snorted.

"We are just helping," Natasha said. "She only come if she want to."

Whatever Yelena had been about to say was lost as a door at the other end of the room suddenly exploded, taking out half the wall with it. The four of them dropped to the ground, plaster and debris falling steadily around them, and Clint realised too late that they had let their guard down.

His ears ached from the noise, and for a minute or two it was all he could hear. His sense of balance was off, the world tilting around him. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Chase beside him, weapon-less and scared. Natasha and Yelena were nowhere to be seen, and Clint felt panic rise in his throat.

"Get out," Clint coughed, feeling the dust settle in his lungs. The sounds of the world came back to him in a rush, just in time for him to hear a gunshot from somewhere behind him. "You gotta run, get outta here."

Chase scrambled across the floor and Clint stood, fumbling for a minute with an arrow before his nerves settled and everything cleared. He could see Yelena now, in the middle of the room, fighting hand to hand with another Red Room operative. He aimed and fired without thinking, not even waiting to see the girl fall before he was looking for Natasha amongst the rubble.

He didn't even know how many other operatives there were in the room; everything was hazy, like looking through a thick fog, and he still couldn't believe that they had not been more careful after what happened in the courtyard. He felt stupid and was so annoyed at himself, sure that he should have known this was going to happen. Now they were here, in another bad situation that could have been avoided.

Clint heard another shot and turned around in time to see Natasha drop to the floor. His whole body turned to ice, heart freezing in his chest as the world around him slowed down. Before he even fully realised it he was letting an arrow fly towards the girl who had fired the shot, and then he stepped forward, watching through blurry eyes as Natasha started to shuffle across the ground. The realisation of what had really happened hit him like a tonne of bricks.

Natasha hadn't been hit. It was Chase.


	51. Chapter Fifty One

hey guys! i actually finished this fic on ao3 and forgot to update it here, so be prepared for the next few chapters to roll in over this week! sorry for the wait! hope you enjoy x

* * *

"We did everything we could, okay?"

The only indication Natasha gave that she had heard him was a slight tensing of her jaw, the muscles of her neck tight as she continued to stare at the machine steadily whirring away in the corner of the room. Clint knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn't change the way they both felt. Guilt was eating him alive, bringing back anxiety and panic that he hadn't felt this intensely for a long time. Natasha was definitely regressing and he couldn't do a single thing to help. The hopelessness weighed heavily on his chest.

Chase lay in the hospital bed, intubated and on a ventilator while they waited to see if he could breathe on his own. His neck was braced, body still as machines pumped him full of fluids and a mild sedative. They wanted to administer some kind of steroid to see if it could help his recovery in the long run, but the technical terms had gone in one ear and straight out of the other. Clint hadn't wanted to ask again, grateful that their covers had held up this far to begin with.

He hadn't really seen the way Chase's head had bounced off the table as he fell, but Natasha had. By the time Yelena had dealt with the remaining girls, Natasha had her hands on either side of his neck and was speaking in Russian so fast that Clint had had trouble keeping up. Yelena had disappeared and returned with a neck brace, and Clint had just followed along blindly, not really realising the gravity of the situation until they were driving Chase to the hospital and the bullet wound became the least of their worries.

Now Chase's spinal cord was swollen, and they were sneaking around a hospital in Virginia waiting for Yelena to clean up their mess. The covers they were using had been created for worst-case scenarios, and Natasha had whipped them out without even consulting him. She was acting as Chase's fiancée, and subsequently his power of attorney, and Clint was supposed to be her brother.

When Chase had created their covers, he had expected them to have enough time for Natasha to at least dye her hair blonde to match Clint. Worst-case scenario had never included this. They had thought it would mean one of them dying, not one of them _surviving_.

The door opened and Yelena entered, face soft and sad as she scanned the room for any extra people. When she didn't find any, the expression dropped from her face immediately and she dumped her bag by the chair, peering at Chase from over Clint's shoulder.

"What they are saying?" she asked.

Clint swallowed hard, keeping his gaze on Natasha as he spoke. "They don't know much but… I don't think he'll walk again."

"You are not doctor," Natasha snapped. Her eyes flicked down to where Clint knew the bullet wound was on Chase's thigh. He had been lucky that they had missed the artery, although saying he was lucky at all felt wrong. "He might walk."

"Natalia," Yelena warned, beating Clint to it. "He is hurt."

"He is strong also," Natasha said. "They say they wait for when he wakes."

"Right," Yelena said sharply. She gave the bag a little kick, then slumped into the chair that Clint couldn't bring himself to sit in. "All things are there. Everything else is done."

Clint bent down to open the bag, finding an envelope that he knew would hold their fake ID's. The hospital wouldn't let Natasha sign for the steroid treatment until they saw physical proof that she was who she said; the four of them stumbling in had caused enough alarm as it was, and their story of Chase being mugged and left for dead in the middle of the afternoon probably hadn't been convincing enough.

"You don't have to stick around," Clint told the younger girl. "Thanks for… Well, thanks for helping us get him here, I guess."

Yelena shrugged and the three of them fell into tense silence again. Clint didn't bother asking what kind of damage control she had done at the university; the formula for the Super Soldier serum was the last thing Clint was thinking about. This kind of stuff didn't happen to Chase. He wasn't supposed to get hurt.

As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, Natasha suddenly stood and marched to the other end of the room, hands clenched into fists. "Is not _right_."

"It's not fair," Clint agreed solemnly. "Chase is… He's too good for this."

"How you find him?" Yelena asked. She reached out and experimentally poked Chase's prone arm. Clint almost expected him to move, but he was still.

"Nat kidnapped him," Clint said, and couldn't help but smile sadly as he remembered the look on Chase's face in the kitchen that night. It had only been five months ago, and now –

"Why?" Yelena snorted. "Is because he is good at computer?"

"I am drugged," Natasha said wearily. She had her head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed and shoulders tense. "Is not my fault."

If Clint didn't know her as well as he did, he would have missed the way her voice faltered as she spoke. He crossed over to her, ignoring everything that was happening around them in favour of pulling her against his chest. She went willingly, but he could feel her muscles twitching.

"None of it's your fault, Tash," he whispered against her temple.

"Get a room," Yelena called to them, laughing to herself.

Clint knew that the situation with Chase wasn't serious at all for Yelena; she had only met him for a minute or two before the fight had started inside the lab, so there wasn't the same kind of personal connection that Clint and Natasha had managed to develop with him. Besides, Clint wasn't entirely sure Yelena was capable of having deeper relationships with people. It wasn't something the Red Room exactly encouraged. He couldn't really be annoyed at her for it.

"If I leave him alone," Natasha said stiffly, pulling back slightly. Her brow furrowed as she thought about what she wanted to say, huffing and swapping to sign instead. _If I left him alone, he would still be able to walk. Why didn't I just let him go?_

_You said it yourself_, Clint signed. _He might still walk._

Natasha gave him a look that told him she didn't believe it. _I've ruined his life._

_You didn't ruin anything, _Clint assured her, watching nervously as her face began to close off. He couldn't lose her, not today. _Natasha. We made the decision together._

_I ruin everything_, she said, then pushed away from the wall. "I go sign form."

Clint wanted to grab her hand and hold it until she understood that it wasn't her fault, but she already had her ID out of the envelope and was on her way out of the room. He sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Yelena glanced at him, then launched herself out of the chair and ran after Natasha.

It was just Chase and him, now. He still couldn't bring himself to sit in the chair by the bed, so he hovered awkwardly by Chase's head and tried not to think about the machine that was breathing for him. He had been shot in the thigh and somehow ended up with a fracture to his vertebrae instead. None of it was fair.

For the first time in a long time, Clint wished that his life were just a little different.

* * *

Clint ripped the bag of popcorn open and held it under Natasha's nose. "You gotta eat something."

Natasha took the bag and plucked a single piece of popcorn from it, nibbling on it delicately as she surveyed the waiting room. Chase's steroid treatment had been pushed through, and even though it wasn't supposed to take long they were both on edge. Waiting was neither one of their strong suits.

She set the bag aside and leant against his side, pulling her knees to her chest and making herself as small as possible on the chair. A passing nurse smiled sympathetically at them, and Clint had to fight the urge to pull Natasha onto his lap and hug her tightly. Instead, he settled for draping his arm over her shoulders and squeezing, acting every bit the protective brother he was supposed to be.

He knew that she was acting too, because even though she _did _feel as helpless and upset as he did, there was no way she would show it physically. There was no way she would let herself appear so _vulnerable_ in public.

"Where's Comrade Belova?" Clint said lowly. There were only three other people in the waiting room with them, but Clint didn't want to risk anyone overhearing them.

Natasha elbowed him, face pulled into a scowl. "She gets hotel room for us."

"Oh," Clint said, surprised. "That's… nice."

"She try," Natasha said. "She say she want to stop them."

"Hmm?" Clint hummed. He watched as a doctor entered the room and called on a young man to follow her through to her office. His stomach churned at the thought of potentially doing something similar with Chase soon. "Stop who?"

"Madame," Natasha murmured. She twisted her fingers in her lap, head lolling onto his shoulder. "Everyone. Trainers and… girls too, if they…"

Clint nodded. "Yea. I don't think you can save them all, Tasha."

She didn't answer for a moment, pulling a decoy phone out of her jacket pocket and clicking away at the keys. Chase had thought of everything when he had put together the pack for this cover. Clint couldn't help but wonder if he would approve of them pulling it out for him; he had told them that once they used it, it was either live that way forever or destroy all of the documents.

Natasha had laughed the first time she had heard that she would be Chase's fiancée, but it made the most sense. If something happened to Chase, then she would logically be the one to take control, and with Clint acting as her brother it all came full circle. _Emergencies only_. Thinking about it too much made his head hurt.

"I think I go with her," Natasha eventually said. She put the phone away, head lifting slightly so she could watch another couple enter the waiting room.

"What?" Clint asked. He twisted to see her face properly, and then reminded himself that he was still supposed to be her brother. He rubbed her arm slowly, even though a small part of him was panicking inside. "What do you mean?"

"It need to stop, Clint," Natasha said softly. "I need… You know I need to stop."

"But you don't…" He started, letting out a deep breath and trying to clear his head. "You don't have to go right now."

"_Nyet_," Natasha assured him. "I see Chase first."

Clint shook his head, throat tight with panic. Natasha couldn't leave, not now. Chase would probably be awake by the morning, and the thought of being alone with him whilst Natasha and Yelena tried to destroy the organisation that had ruined their lives made his stomach clench. He knew that they were more than capable of looking after themselves, but the incident at the university had hit too close to home.

Even though it hadn't even been that long since Clint had been shot himself, he had almost forgotten how easy it was to almost die in their line of work. He knew how important this was for her, though, and as much as he wanted to he could never stop her. He had just assumed that he would always be there to help her.

"I need to," Natasha whispered. The corner of her lips quirked up, but she couldn't quite cover the exhaustion in her eyes. "Yelena is good."

"She's not _bad_," Clint countered. "You… You gotta be careful, Tasha."

"We are best," Natasha said, and Clint rolled his eyes.

"I _know_ that, but it doesn't mean nothing will go wrong."

Natasha stared at him for a moment, and he tried to look supportive, knowing it was what she needed most at the moment. She still blamed herself for everything that had happened, he could tell just by looking at her. Despite how well she was playing the scared fiancée, he knew her too well not to notice the sharp edge to her.

She curled against him again, swiping her hand across her eyes as another nurse walked through. The couple that had only just arrived smiled at Natasha, and she grinned timidly back, keeping her knees up close to her chest. She looked young and sad and afraid, and deep down she was, just like he was.

"We have time. We make plan," she murmured. "Clint. I stay now."

"Okay," he whispered back. He let his cheek rest on top of her head, stopping himself from pressing a kiss there too. "We stay for now."

* * *

It was two hours later when they were finally allowed to visit Chase. Natasha had left earlier, after their visit with the doctor; there hadn't been any new information to learn, except for the fact that they thought the steroid treatment had been successful, and Clint was glad that at least something had gone right.

Natasha had cried in the doctor's office, convincingly enough that Clint had almost thought she might fall into a panic attack. He had held her hand and pretended that he could understand what vertebrae they were talking about and how Chase having seizures was going to be normal, but all of it was just white noise.

He wanted to go to the library and read as much as he could about spinal injuries, the way that he used to when he was learning Russian for Natasha. He could use a computer now, he figured, and find it all faster. He didn't like feeling useless, and wanted to something to keep him busy whilst Natasha consulted with Yelena.

Natasha was tired, but he hadn't been able to convince her to stay at the hotel and get some sleep. The crying had given her an excuse to leave for a little while anyway, and Clint had originally promised to wait until she was back before he went and visited Chase, but he found himself being led down the corridor to where his friend would be still unconscious in a hospital bed.

Clint's hand clenched around his coffee cup. He wished he had Natasha with him, but a small part of him also didn't want to leave Chase on his own and couldn't wait any longer. Doctor Gregg was kind and patient with them, and he was glad that Chase had someone like him on his team.

They stopped outside of the door, and Clint took a deep breath. Doctor Gregg put his hand on Clint's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

"Just act like he can hear you. Even though it might look intimidating, acting normal is often a great help."

Clint nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yea, 'kay. Thanks doc."

"You and your sister are doing a good job," Doctor Gregg said, then pushed Clint through the door gently. "I'm sure Mr King will appreciate his family helping him on his road to recovery."

The door closed before Clint could even answer, and he took a moment to take another deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast on the ground in front of him. It was just Chase, he reminded himself. He was hurt but alive, and he needed them to keep him safe while he healed. This was just another obstacle for them to overcome, much like they had worked together to help Natasha through her triggers. Doctor Gregg was right: they were a family, and they needed to stick together.

He looked up and froze, not at seeing Chase in the bed, but at seeing the person sat in the chair beside him. Clint only had a knife in his shoe and it wouldn't help him, though he didn't know if he even wanted to use it. His heart thumped in his chest, body poised to run at any moment.

From his place in the chair, Agent Coulson smiled.


	52. Chapter Fifty Two

(not gonna lie, this made me a cry a lil but i love these guys and im such a sook, so)

please review if you like it! and i hope you enjoy, thank you xx

* * *

"How did you find us?"

Clint felt the words leave his mouth before he could stop them. Panic flared up hot in his chest, and he suddenly wished he had a way of communicating with Natasha. She would be walking right into this unless he figured out how to stop it.

"Not many people break into the laboratory at Culver University," Agent Coulson said easily. "I'm sure you can understand why S.H.I.E.L.D might take an interest in that."

Clint frowned. "That's not what I asked."

Coulson stood and Clint immediately took a step back, even though he was pretty sure that running wouldn't get him anywhere. They stared at each other, and there was something in Coulson's expression that looked surprisingly like pity. Clint couldn't even begin to imagine what he looked like, but his heart was about ready to burst out of his chest.

"We checked every available surveillance camera," Coulson replied. "We eventually found footage of you in the waiting room."

"That's not your typical street camera," Clint said. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down. "S.H.I.E.L.D make a habit of invading people's privacy?"

"I'm sure you must have realised that we have our ways by now, Clint."

Clint could barely remember the paperwork he had read through when he was being held at S.H.I.E.L.D. So much had happened since then, and yet despite their best efforts they were back to the exact situation they had been trying to avoid: captured by a secret agency that technically wanted them dead.

Except, Clint couldn't help but wonder if this was their way out. He had been more than ready to sign his life away last time, and Coulson's offer had been a constant thought at the back of his mind ever since, but he had always been more concerned with Natasha and helping her with the destruction of the Red Room to ever really bring it up with her.

He didn't mind it at all, because Natasha's safety and happiness were probably the two most important things in his life, but sometimes he had thought about how things could be different and actually preferred the idea of it all. An agency that would use their very specialised skill sets for good instead of bad, _and_ protect them from all of the other people who wanted them dead, couldn't possibly be a bad idea.

"Why are you here?" Clint asked before he could spiral.

Coulson glanced at Chase on the bed, and Clint suddenly remembered why any of them were there. The doctor had told him to talk like everything was normal, but now nothing was normal and Chase didn't even know it yet.

"My offer still stands," Coulson said. "I was impressed that your friend here could hack our system long enough for the Widow to sneak you out."

"Wouldn't call it sneaking," Clint muttered, tossing his coffee cup into the trash. His stomach was too uneasy for him to even consider finishing the drink. He could remember the rush of adrenaline as they sprinted out of the S.H.I.E.L.D building like it had only just happened minutes ago. "Chase is… He's real good."

"We can help him recover," Coulson said softly. "Even though the Widow has pissed off half of S.H.I.E.L.D, we also can't ignore the fact that she was hidden in plain sight for so long. She's good. You're all good."

"We have to be good," Clint said. "Else we die. And I don't really want that to happen."

He sat heavily in the chair beside Chase's bed, too tired to care if Coulson was standing behind him now. It had been a long week, and now that he was caught he didn't really want to have to start running again. If only Natasha were here so he could ask her what she thought about everything, even if he already knew what her answer would be.

"Chase will receive excellent medical care at S.H.I.E.L.D in exchange for your cooperation," Coulson explained. "This is your final chance, Clint. After today I can't guarantee your safety."

Clint nodded, his eyes burning, though he couldn't tell if it was from tears or pure exhaustion. "And Chase would be okay?"

Coulson didn't answer immediately. Clint coughed and sat up a little straighter, trying to pull together what little self-control he had left. It was all too much, and it was all happening too quickly. He supposed that this was the ending they had been running towards for years now, though.

"Realistically, he – "

"Probably won't walk again," Clint finished Coulson's sentence, staring at his friend on the bed. "Yea. I know."

Coulson offered Clint a tight smile. "I'm sure you did the best you could."

It wasn't reassuring, but Clint was still grateful that the agent had at least tried. He titled his head back to the roof and let out a deep breath. Everything would change as soon as he said the words. He didn't even know if Coulson knew about Yelena; was he supposed to bargain her into this plan or pretend she didn't exist?

He glanced back at the older man in time to see the door open, and icy fear set in his veins as he remembered that Natasha was coming back. He stood, moved a second quicker than Coulson did, and had himself between her and the agent before the door had even fully shut.

Natasha glared at him, and if he didn't know her as well as he did he would have missed the fear in her eyes. "Move."

"Wait," Clint said, holding his hands up to her. His usual nickname for her almost slipped out but he couldn't betray her like that, not when Coulson knew nothing about her. "Hey. It's okay."

"Is not okay," she hissed, her eyes flickering to Coulson. "Let me kill him."

Clint finally noticed the knife in her hand, almost hidden by the long sleeve of his hoodie that she was wearing. She looked exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the nearest chair with her and catch a few hours of sleep before Chase woke up. He also wanted to know what her and Yelena had planned, but now wasn't the time.

"Agent Coulson is gonna help Chase," Clint told her carefully. "He's gonna get the best care with – "

"_Nyet_," Natasha snapped. "They want to kill us. How you not see?"

Coulson had remained quiet, and Clint was secretly thankful. If the older man spoke or moved he really couldn't be sure that Natasha wouldn't hurt him; they were already balancing on the edge of something dangerous, and he didn't want her to tip them over the edge.

"Trust me," he murmured, reaching out to her slightly. "Please. Please trust me on this one."

Natasha's brow furrowed as she stared at him, body tense like she was about to run. Clint kept his hand out to her, not caring that Coulson would see how much he cared for her, because none of it mattered if Natasha wasn't going to be with him.

"Okay," she whispered, so softly that he would have missed it if he weren't watching her face. She passed him the knife, though he knew it wouldn't be the only weapon she had on her person. "Okay."

"Okay," Clint repeated, smiling at her gently. His fingers itched with the urge to touch her but he refrained, pocketing the knife and taking a small step to the side so she could face Coulson herself.

Coulson couldn't quite hide the brief flash of shock that passed over his features as he saw Natasha for the first time. He glanced at Clint, and he could see that Coulson simply hadn't expected Natasha to be as young as she was. Everything he had said about her suspected kills seemed to suddenly hang heavy in the air above them.

"Widow," Coulson said, recovering quickly. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name."

Natasha's expression was blank, and it sent a shiver down Clint's spine. "Agent Coulson. Why you are here?"

"Consider it a job opportunity," Coulson said easily. "Your expertise would be greatly appreciated at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"So you chain me up and make me puppet again?" Natasha snapped. "You just as bad as them. I am not working for you to hurt me."

Clint had never thought about how Natasha might view working for S.H.I.E.L.D, but her hesitation suddenly made sense. She believed that S.H.I.E.L.D was just like the Red Room, and that they would abuse her to get her to do what they wanted. Giving up her freedom meant something different for Natasha, and Clint felt foolish for not considering it sooner.

"I think we could help you," Coulson said carefully. "We don't know much about the Red Room, but we know their experiments were… cruel, to say the least."

"You don't know _anything_," Natasha spat. "They take everything. Pull apart brain and is fake. I do bad things and don't have control. Is all the same everywhere."

"We wouldn't do that to you," Coulson said. "We would help you, just like we're going to help Chase."

It didn't escape Clint that Coulson was suddenly speaking as though he were dealing with a frightened child. Natasha was a ball of rage and fear, and not even Clint could tell exactly what she was thinking. They needed a moment to themselves, though he doubted they would be getting one anytime soon.

_Take a deep breath_, he signed to her. _Hey, it's okay. _

_I can't let them take me_, Natasha signed back, keeping her eyes firmly on Coulson. _I can't let them torture me for information. I know what it will be like, Clint. _

_I don't think Coulson would let that happen_, he said carefully. _I trust this guy. And right now, this is Chase's best chance at ever being able to walk again. It's our best chance of living past twenty._

_I don't…_ Natasha started. _I can't trust him. I can only trust you._

_Then trust me on this one_, Clint pleaded. _Please, please trust me. We stand together, right? Even when we're not sure_.

_Even when you drive me crazy_, Natasha signed slowly. _We are doing the best we can._

_And I love you_, Clint said, repeating their conversation from months ago. _I wouldn't let them hurt you, and I know it's hard to imagine that it's good, but I think this is it. I think this is our ticket._

Natasha paused, twisting her fingers a little. Coulson hadn't moved much, but he had been watching their exchange with quiet amusement. This probably wasn't the way Coulson had ever imagined his first meeting with the elusive Black Widow going down, but Clint was glad he had been there to deescalate the situation.

_Yelena_, Natasha said eventually. _I have to help her_.

Clint felt his stomach drop. _But…_

He didn't know what to say. He could never stop Natasha from doing what she wanted, especially when it was something as important at this. But Coulson had very clearly stated that this was their last chance, and if Natasha didn't come with him now then he wasn't sure he would ever see her again.

"I hate to interrupt," Coulson said. "We are on a deadline, though. If I don't bring you in within the next 24 hours, then the deal is off and I can't help you anymore."

"24 hours," Clint repeated. "We need… We need to talk about this. In private."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunately, Clint, you're not in the position to be making those kinds of demands."

"My name is Natalia," Natasha said suddenly. Clint spun to her in shock, ready to protest whatever she was doing, but she didn't move her gaze from Coulson's face. "Natalia Romanova. I am seventeen. I will… I have information. You let us talk."

Coulson stared at Natasha for a long minute, and Clint thought for sure that he would turn them down. But then he smiled and held out his hand expectantly. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Romanova. You have fours hours, not a second longer."

To Clint's surprise, Natasha shook his hand. "Deal."

* * *

"Tasha, you shouldn't have –"

Clint's protest was cut off as Natasha pressed her lips against his, backing them up until Clint's back hit the wall of the hotel. He tangled his hand in her hair, deepening the kiss until she was moaning against him, his other hand reaching up under her hoodie.

He had no idea where Yelena was, but wouldn't put it past her to already know about what had happened at the hospital. Clint was scared, but Natasha was making it a little hard to think of anything remotely serious. He helped her tug her hoodie over her head, then lifted her over to the dingy old bed.

"You shouldn't have told him your name," he panted against her skin. "Not until –"

"I need time," Natasha said. "With you. Is worth it."

Clint pulled back, and Natasha let him for a change. They stared at each other, every emotion under the sun swimming in their gazes. Clint didn't even know where to begin.

"I have to go," Natasha whispered, beating him to it. "You know I do."

"Yea," Clint said gruffly. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, then gently bopped the end of her nose. "I know you do. Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

He flopped down beside her, and she immediately draped herself over his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. He stroked his hand over her arm and tried to think about anything other than the conversation they were about to have.

"You have to go with S.H.I.E.L.D," she said softly. "And Chase. You keep him safe."

"I know," Clint said. "And you'll come back. We'll both be agents. I'll tell Coulson those are our terms."

Natasha's breath was warm on his neck. "I come back."

"You'll come back," Clint repeated firmly. "Those are our terms, Tasha."

She nodded against him. He blinked back tears and focused on the feeling of her with him. It was the first time they had had the opportunity to say goodbye before being separated, but Clint felt like it was much harder than all of the other times they hadn't had a chance to prepare for.

"I think this is the right decision," Clint whispered. "I don't see us getting out of it any other way. And I trust Coulson, more than basically anyone else I've ever met. Plus Chase will have great care, and once we're agents it'll all just be normal."

He knew he was ranting, but if he didn't he would cry and not be able to stop himself. He also knew that there was a very real possibility that Coulson wouldn't agree to their plan, and then Natasha would be out on her own. If she came back.

"Normal," Natasha said. "I like."

She kissed him again, slow and sweet. He tried to memorise every inch of her, even though he already had a million times before. He truly believed that this was exactly what they needed to escape their current situation; he just wished that she could come with him now, and didn't want to chase old ghosts.

"Six months," Clint said against her lips. "If you're not back after six months, I'll come find you."

"Okay," Natasha agreed. "I have plan."

"Shhh," Clint murmured, smiling at her cheekily. "We have three and a half hours. We don't have to go through the plan right now."

Natasha giggled, bringing her hands up to squish his cheeks together so she could kiss his puckered lips. "I love you."

"I love you," Clint said, and signed it against her belly too. "God, Tasha. I love you."

She laughed again, and he felt it reverberate in his own belly. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, and it almost felt like they did; just the two of them in a dirty hotel room, hours away from the beginning of something new and scary and important. He kissed her like she was leaving, because he knew she would when he least expected it, slipping away before she could change her mind. It was just how things were.

For now, things were good. Things were nice. Clint tried to hold onto it for a little longer.


	53. Chapter Fifty Three

this is a lil filler before obviously everything starts happening, because we don't have many chapters left!

hope you enjoy and drop a review!

* * *

**Brooklyn, 2007**

**October**

Clint sighed as he saw the old lady struggling to carry her bags down the sidewalk. It had been months since he had last seen Mrs Timms, and he hadn't really wanted their reunion to go like this. He liked the woman, but introducing her to Coulson hadn't been something he had considered when he agreed to take the agent back to their old apartment.

"Henry!" she called, smiling as she let him take the bags from her. She leant in and kissed both of his cheeks, then squeezed one between her fingers. "Where have you been, young man?"

"We did a lot of travelling," Clint lied. He didn't know how else he could explain their many absences over the past year. "Em always wanted to see some of the states before she went to college."

When he really thought about it, they had spent more time away from Brooklyn that year than they had at home. He had never thought about how it would look to other people, or if anyone would even notice at all. He should have realised that Mrs Timms would notice, though. He didn't give her the credit she was due.

"She's not here?" Mrs Timms asked, letting them into the apartment building. "I've missed our chats over tea."

"She's spending a little time on her own," Clint said carefully. "Thinks it might be healing."

Natasha would kill him if she ever heard him say that, but he knew that it was the one thing Mrs Timms would fall for without asking any extra questions. She had always believed that Natasha's nightmares were a result of trauma, and it was technically true; she just didn't know that Natasha's pain was infinitely greater than the pain she thought Emily experienced.

"Good for her," Mrs Timms said. The three of them began the slow descent up the stairs, and even though he was at the back Coulson didn't escape the old woman's eye. "And who's this handsome man?"

"My dad," Clint said quickly. "Bill."

"It's nice to meet you," Coulson said, thankfully catching on to Clint's half-thought out plan.

"You've got a wonderful son," Mrs Timms gushed. "He has helped me so much since he moved here. Emily, too. They're dear things."

"Well I'm very glad to hear that," Coulson replied. "It makes me feel like I've at least done one thing right."

Clint chuckled awkwardly, though he was internally glad that Coulson was comfortable lying to the woman. Mrs Timms hadn't really factored into their plan, but the agent was handling the curveball surprisingly well, even if Clint himself felt a little hesitant about the whole thing.

The closer they drew to the apartment, the more apprehensive he became. He could feel anxiety creep over his skin at the thought of being back without Chase or Natasha, and fought to push it down before he gave himself away. Taking Coulson there almost felt like a betrayal to them, despite the fact that neither of them knew he was doing it.

"Did you know Emily's parents?" Mrs Timms asked, knocking Clint from his train of thought.

Coulson frowned. "No, I didn't. Henry told me about the accident, though."

"Dad was in the middle of a deployment," Clint said quickly. "He didn't really know Em much either until recently.'

"The poor girl," Mrs Timms sighed. She lifted her keys from her bag with shaky fingers and struggled to unlock the door. "All those nights screaming. Made me want to come round and bundle her right up."

Clint nodded, throat suddenly tight as he remembered all the instances Mrs Timms was talking about. There had been so many long nights, so many times that he had tried to talk her out of the memories in her head. Every time he thought of her he felt like screaming, because it had been five months since their deal in the hotel room and he hadn't heard a single word from her.

Coulson looked curiously at Clint but didn't say anything as he walked inside Mrs Timms' apartment to offload her groceries. The stupid dogs nipped at his ankles and it almost felt like old times, except everything was wrong. Even Mrs Timms had changed, her hair somehow whiter and more brittle.

"Thank you, Henry," she told him. "Go enjoy your time with your dad."

"Yes ma'am," Clint smiled.

"And you be sure to bring that pretty girl of yours back here for one more cup of tea before she heads off on her big adventure," Mrs Timms continued. She held the door open for him, her eyes bright. "You two keep me young."

"Will do, Mrs Timms," Clint promised her, and meant it.

She shut the door behind him and Clint swallowed, suddenly nervous again. Coulson glanced around the landing, noting the dirty carpet and flickering lights. Clint couldn't remember the place being quite so rundown. Maybe because he was used to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters now his standards had changed.

In the five months since he had willingly left with Coulson, Clint had gone through numerous psych evals and interrogations, as well as physical training that had left him exhausted day after day. He had passed most of their tests with flying colours and had been fast-tracked through the Academy, much to the chagrin of the other people who were training to be agents. He didn't really have any friends, except for Chase, and even then Clint couldn't bring himself to visit him properly.

Despite S.H.I.E.L.D's best efforts, Chase was paralysed from the waist down. Clint had seen him once, before his therapy started, just to tell him what was actually going on. He knew that he was being a terrible friend but everything was still too raw, and he didn't know what he could possibly to say to make anything better.

He was officially an agent now, and that was why Coulson had agreed to let him go back to the Brooklyn apartment to get some of their personal possessions. Natasha had one month to come back before S.H.I.E.L.D sent another Strike Team out to terminate her, and Clint couldn't think about it without feeling sick. He was hoping this would distract him, even if only for a minute.

"This is it," he said, mainly to fill the silence that had fallen between them. He unlocked the door to the apartment and flicked the light switch a couple of times until the light actually stayed on.

Coulson stepped inside and surveyed the small area. It was exactly as Clint remembered leaving it: an old pizza box on the kitchen counter, their duffel bag of things from Iowa thrown haphazardly onto the couch, Lucky's bed by the wall and a trail of clothes leading into Clint and Natasha's room. His heart ached at the familiarity of it.

"Hiding in plain sight," Coulson commented drily. "To think you were here the whole time."

"What can I say," Clint teased, heading for the bedroom. "We're just that good."

Coulson didn't follow Clint into the bedroom, and he was thankful to have a moment to himself. He wouldn't be able to take all of the clothes back with him, but was banking on being able to at least donate them. He found the key to Natasha's handcuffs and took them from the bedframe, before moving around the room collecting the things that held at least a little significance.

Natasha's set of expensive makeup brushes joined her favourite dress, and under a pile of dirty laundry he found some of the arrowhead sketches he had started. Most of the other things would be easily replaceable, so he took one last look around the room to try and commit it to memory. He had no idea what would happen to the apartment after today, but he hoped he would at least be given the option to keep it if he wanted.

Clint dumped his things in the duffel bag and moved over to the wall where Coulson stood. He had almost entirely forgotten about the paper they had stuck over the wall that day after Natasha's regression; the red ink of the question marks was still as stark as the day that Chase drew it.

"A timeline," Coulson said casually, running his finger along Clint's version of events. "You made this?"

"Uh, yea," Clint replied. "We realised… Things didn't quite match up. We were just trying to make sense of things."

Coulson moved his finger to hover over June of 2005 on Natasha's timeline. "We always assumed it was her in Prague, but there was nothing physical to tie her there."

"Do you know what she did in July?" Clint joked. "Because we don't."

Coulson's expression changed just slightly as he continued to survey they sheets of paper. Clint thought he knew him well enough by now to be able to recognise concern on his features, which didn't help with the sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked back at the timelines too, noticing all of the little milestones they had added as the days passed, until it all suddenly ended in April.

"It's interesting," Coulson muttered eventually. "The Red Room has access to more technology than we may have realised."

"The Red Room can burn for all I care," Clint snapped. "They ruined her life, completely fucked her brain up. She has so many triggers it's exhausting. We shouldn't have to do this kind of shit. She should just remember what she did instead of having to analyse whether its fake or not."

He took a deep breath and ran his shaky hands through his hair, willing his heart to stop racing. He couldn't freak out, not now, and especially not about this. Coulson was too smart to not realise that there was more to his relationship with Natasha, but Clint wasn't quite ready to give them up yet.

"Can we take these?" Coulson asked, ignoring Clint's outburst. "This could prove useful when Natalia returns."

"Okay," Clint managed. He was thankful that Coulson had said _when _and not _if_. Natasha had to come back. He didn't know what he would do if she didn't.

"Everything ready then?" Coulson said. "You have a mandatory briefing before your first mission next week."

"Yea, that's all," Clint said softly. He took one last look at the apartment, then slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. He would talk to Coulson about it later, hopeful they could keep the place. "Let's go."

* * *

A passing agent knocked his shoulder against Clint's as they passed in the hall, then said something too low for him to hear properly. His ears burned a little but he kept his head down, not wanting to start anything even though half of S.H.I.E.L.D had already tried to over the last five months.

"Don't worry about them," Maria Hill said from his other side. "It'll be old news in no time."

"Not likely," Clint muttered. "I'm cosy with the enemy, remember?"

Maria shook her head. "She did kill five agents."

Clint liked Maria, partly because she was the only agent other than Coulson that actually spoke to him, but mainly because she was truthful and wasn't afraid to call him out. She had been a steady shoulder to lean on whilst he adjusted to becoming an official agent, and she had shown him some great combat moves that he couldn't wait to test out on the field.

"It's not all black and white," Clint said. "I still need to debrief Coulson about her. I just don't know where to start."

"I'm sure you could start anywhere," Maria mused. "Coulson and Fury have been chasing the Black Widow for so long that they obsess over the tiniest details."

Clint laughed a little, trying to imagine Coulson being anything other than casually indifferent. He hadn't actually met Fury yet, but figured it wouldn't be long before he was requested into the Director's office.

"I wonder if they'd like to hear about how much she likes borscht and mini hotdogs," Clint joked.

Maria glanced at him. "When you say things like that, it makes me remember that she's actually a real person."

Clint didn't let himself get angry at the comment. It was easy for people to imagine Natasha as a robotic killer, because half of the time she had been. It would take a lot of convincing to get them to see her for who she really was, and that was only if she let her guard down enough to show them.

"Only one more month," he muttered to himself. "Then everything can go back to normal."

"That's an interesting idea of normal you have there, Barton," Maria said. They stopped in front of a set of double doors, and Clint only just realised where she had led him after the debrief. Before he could speak she held a finger up, effectively silencing him. "I think you need to talk to your friend."

"And say what?" Clint snapped, annoyed at being tricked. "Sorry for dragging you into this shit show? Sorry for your broken back?"

"Sorry for being an asshole and a bad friend might be a good place to start," Maria suggested. She pushed open the door, then gestured for him to go inside. "You need to get over yourself, Barton."

Clint huffed but entered the rehabilitation gym, eyes quickly finding Chase across the room. Lucky was by his station, lying with his head on his paws. Clint had barely managed to talk Coulson into letting Lucky on base, but eventually he had given into the idea that the puppy might be able to be trained as a therapy dog.

So far, it wasn't going well. As soon as Lucky saw Clint crossing the room he leapt up and raced over, jumping and barking around like an idiot. It drew a lot of unwanted attention to Clint, and he firmly told the dog to settle down before he continued towards Chase.

"Bout time!" Chase called. He was in his wheelchair, a tray with a few sensory items on it settled over his lap. "Here I was thinking you'd abandoned me after abducting me, which makes absolutely no sense."

"I didn't…" Clint started, rubbing the back of his neck. Chase looked well, his face brighter than it had been the last time Clint had seen him. "I didn't know what to say."

"This coming from the guy who never shuts up?" Chase joked. "Please."

"I'm sorry," Clint murmured. "Fuck, Chase. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

"Who cares?" Chase said, raising his hands slightly off the tray. "I'm alive. I've got this cool set of wheels and a place with working hot water. This dumb dog can't trip me over anymore and we're not running, right? What more could I ask for?"

Clint blinked, shocked at Chase's admission. He had always thought that losing the use of his legs would be the worst thing that could happen, but maybe he had been looking at it all wrong. Chase was right; they were alive, and safe. They even had their dog.

"Maybe I'm just an asshole then," Clint said.

"All we need is little Red and the team will be back together," Chase declared. He pointed a finger at his physical therapist, who stood to the side looking annoyed at the interruption. "This guy doesn't like our Widow friend."

Clint snorted and shoved Chase's shoulder playfully. "No one here likes our Widow friend."

It wasn't exactly right, because they _were _still missing Natasha, but Clint felt something settle over him that almost felt homely. They could make a home out of this place, if they tried hard enough. They could fight the good fight and keep each other safe, and they would be okay. More than okay.

"Quinn is still pretty pissed off about everything," Chase admitted. "She'll come round, though. She's one tough cookie."

"Quinn, right," Clint sighed. "She definitely won't like our Widow friend."

Chase suddenly paled and slumped slightly in his chair. The physical therapist stepped over and removed the tray from his lap, and then made sure he was properly settled before standing behind him to push the chair. "That's enough for today."

"We're building on that strength, bro," Chase said, voice strained. "When Nat gets back I'll be strong enough to beat her in an arm wrestle."

"Sounds good," Clint laughed as he walked beside them. "You got a long way to go?"

"Yea," Chase said, then lolled his head around to meet Clint's gaze. "But that's life, right?"

Clint nodded, not trusting his voice in the moment. Chase was like his big brother, the type of brother he had wanted Barney to be. It felt nice to fall back into the easy conversation that they were used to. Lucky followed obediently by the side of the wheelchair, tail wagging like crazy.

"You got much on for the afternoon?" Clint asked, and then mentally kicked himself.

Chase just smiled. "More therapy. But I'd love to hear all about what's been happening these last few months. If I keep missing out on things I'm gonna start feeling like Red."

Clint couldn't help but laugh again, glad that Chase was joking around, even if it was at the expense of Natasha. He figured if they didn't laugh they might just break down, and he wasn't in the mood for any more pain. He could have at least one afternoon with his friend where he wouldn't have to worry about anything bad. There was a lot that Chase had missed out on.

"Okay," Clint said, and felt a genuine smile spread across his face for the first time in months. "I'll tell you whatever you wanna hear."


	54. Chapter Fifty Four

not long now guys omg! sorry you had to wait for the last 10 chapters, i'm trash lmao. but hope you enjoy!

* * *

The inside of Director Fury's office wasn't as intimidating as Maria had made it out to be, and it belatedly occurred to Clint that she had only been messing with him for the past week. He entered and took a seat in the chair that Coulson directed him to, then tried not to feel like he was stuck inside the principal's office. He had no idea what was going on, just that the meeting had been scheduled for immediately after his mission and for some reason involved Fury.

"Agent Barton," Fury said, regarding Clint with his one eye. "It's about damn time we finally met."

Clint wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. He fought the urge to glance at Coulson and instead clenched his hands, reminding himself that debriefs after missions were normal now. Coulson was his handler, and he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary on their way to visit the Director. Clint trusted him enough to believe that nothing was terribly wrong.

"We spent a whole year chasing your asses across the globe, and you had the audacity to bargain with one of my best agents?"

Coulson almost looked like he might smile, but Clint felt a hint of apprehension creep up the back of his neck. The S.H.I.E.L.D psychologist had diagnosed him, officially, with mild anxiety, and had assured him that it shouldn't affect his work in the field. It was moments like this that made him doubt their consensus. He fought to keep himself steady and calm, trying to meet Fury's gaze squarely.

"Our priorities shifted, sir," Clint said carefully. "Besides, bargaining is what I do best."

"Clearly," Fury muttered. He leant back in his chair, glancing at Coulson. "Mission report?"

"Barton only just arrived back on base, Director," Coulson said smoothly. "From what I've heard, he more than pulled his weight."

Clint's mission had been straight forward, but the Strike Team he had been assigned had _not _wanted him there, and had done everything in their power to try and make him fail. It shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but he had got the job done on his own and had been back on the jet in time for take off. He hadn't told Coulson about the other agents, and probably wouldn't even put it in his report. It was petty and he didn't want to stoop to their level.

Fury grunted in response and tilted his head at Coulson. Clint watched out of the corner of his eye as Coulson dropped a manila envelope on the desk in front of him. Clint's fingers itched to open it but he refrained, trying not to appear to eager.

"We'd like any information you have on Natalia Romanova," Coulson continued, directing his focus to Clint. "This is off the record."

"Why?" Clint blurted. He knew that they wanted to know about Natasha, but he didn't understand why it would be off the record. "What do you mean? I thought this was a debrief."

Coulson pushed the envelope closer to Clint, encouraging him to open it. "There are some people who don't need to be a part of this conversation yet. Don't worry."

"The Council wants her dead," Fury said bluntly. "Sooner rather than later. We're the intervention."

Clint felt his blood go cold even as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. His throat felt like it had closed up, because they were supposed to have another month, Natasha was supposed to check in and let him know everything was okay and she _hadn't _and –

"Open the folder, Clint," Coulson said calmly, breaking into Clint's train of thoughts and forcing him to take a deep breath.

He blinked rapidly and uncurled his fists from where he had been clenching them on his lap. He was thankful that Coulson hadn't belittled him, or made him feel worse about his panic. He barely knew the man and he already treated him better than half of the people in his life had, and it was disconcerting and weird to think that someone else could actually care.

Clint opened the folder with trembling fingers, but the contents weren't as bad as he had been expecting. There was only a scrap of paper, with Natasha's name and age hastily scribbled on it, as well as the two photographs that Clint had been shown the first time he was taken by S.H.I.E.L.D. He stared at the image of Natasha in the airport, face hidden but hair almost painfully vibrant.

"What do you wanna know then?" Clint said softly, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Do you know where she was born?" Coulson asked.

Clint shrugged. "Nope. She probably doesn't know either."

"Right," Fury said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. "Let's get straight to the point then. You wanna tell us the truth about how the two of you met?"

Clint could remember that day as if it had happened yesterday. It was the one memory from his childhood that didn't seem to fade as time went on, even though it hadn't really been that significant at the time. He could picture her scraped knees and unruly hair, could hear the husk to her voice that hadn't changed after all these years.

"She was brought here by one of the Red Room trainers," Clint said. "I don't know how, really, but she came when she was nine. She lived on my street. Guess we became friends because everyone else thought we were freaks."

"She was nine?" Coulson asked. He was taking notes, but paused to look at Clint properly. "Did she attend school?"

"Yea, she beat a girl up a couple of months after starting," Clint laughed. "We grew up together."

"You grew up with a Russian spy?" Fury said incredulously. "In Iowa, of all damn places?"

"She told me about all the spy stuff pretty early on, cause I told her about my dad beating the shit out of me."

Coulson and Fury exchanged a look that made Clint feel a little self-conscious. He didn't really know what was going to happen next, regardless of what the older men told him. For all he really knew, this could be a ploy to target Natasha like the Council wanted. He was tired of being paranoid, though. For once he wanted to trust someone.

"So you bonded over trauma?" Coulson said drily. "How cute."

Clint snorted. "You don't even _know_. Nat's trauma is off the charts."

The office descended into silence, and it occurred to Clint that not everyone would feel comfortable joking in that situation. He was used to playing that kind of thing off with Natasha and Chase, being serious enough to help but then laughing about it later. It probably wasn't their healthiest coping mechanism; he couldn't deny that it did work, at least for a little while.

"Look, she grew up in Iowa, but Ivan sent her back to Russia every year for extra training or something," Clint explained. "Sometimes she would come back and she couldn't remember anything. That was when they started messing with her brain. But if I hit her hard enough most of it would come back."

"Did she ever tell you about the people she killed?" Coulson asked.

"I don't think she always knew that she had done it," Clint said carefully. "We never talked about it. She kept a lot of things to herself."

"Who the fuck is Ivan?" Fury interrupted.

"He was the guy who brought her here and hurt her," Clint said, and then shrugged. "It was like some weird kind of experiment for him."

"Do we need to be worried that Natalia will defect back to Ivan?" Coulson said warily.

Clint snorted. "Nope. I killed him."

Coulson and Fury shared another look, but Clint was just annoyed now. He didn't want to be sitting around having a conversation when they were implying that the Council was getting ready to find Natasha. He needed to hear her voice so he could tell if she was really okay or not. Even a message from Yelena would be welcome.

"What else can you tell us?" Coulson said after a moment. He looked concerned, and Clint wasn't used to seeing the expression on his face. "Any information is useful."

"How do I know…" Clint started, then huffed in frustration. "God. How can I _trust_ you?"

He hoped that Coulson wouldn't take offence to the question, because even though Clint did trust him, they were entering new territory and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to Natasha because of what he had told them.

Clint wanted to have faith in S.H.I.E.L.D, and for the most part he did. The more he talked about it, however, the more anxious he became. No one except for Natasha and Chase knew the truth about what had happened to Ivan, and it was starting to feel like he was giving away too many secrets. He had never shared his life with anyone before.

"We were always under the impression that the Black Widow was a woman operating willingly for an underground Russian organization," Coulson stated. "It wasn't until we saw you on the security footage that we began to consider an alternative to this narrative."

"Agent Coulson was the one that suggested we bring her in," Fury added. "I thought he was crazy. He staked his career on it."

"Now that we know how young she is, and have a better understanding of how the Red Room operates…" Coulson said.

"He staked his career on it _twice_."

Clint looked between the two of them, trying to see if he could tell from their faces that they were lying. He needed to stop assuming the worst of people, but it was hard when it was all he had learnt growing up. So far, neither Coulson nor Fury had hurt him in order to receive the information they wanted, and he had been treated well by most people within S.H.I.E.L.D. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

"She has triggers," Clint began softly, not missing the moment that Coulson started taking notes again. "A lot of triggers. There are words and sounds, like a spoon hitting a bowl. She can't watch Snow White because they used it to learn English. She doesn't know how to express emotions properly. I think its started to get worse."

"How so?" Fury prompted.

"Some stuff happened that made her shut down," Clint said. He felt his eyes burn as he remembered all the ways she had struggled with her feelings, but he pushed on. "For a while she didn't speak. The nightmares got worse. When she gets really overwhelmed she hurts herself."

Coulson sighed and ran a hand over his face. Clint had never seen him look as angry as he did in that moment, though he didn't really understand why he would feel that way. Coulson didn't know Natasha; he only knew that she had killed five agents, as well as many others over the years. It didn't make sense.

"And the Council think she's just a robot," Fury muttered. "Those assholes need their damn brains checked."

"We need to reevaluate," Coulson said. "We need to see if it's possible to deprogram her."

Clint sagged back into his seat, feeling exhausted. A part of him wanted to go straight to bed and sleep all afternoon, but another part wanted to go down to the range and take out his frustration on some targets, even though he had only just arrived back from his mission. Surely he had given Coulson and Fury enough information for the day.

"There's one more thing, Barton," Fury said. He clicked something on the computer screen in front of him and Clint watched as a projector began to start up on the wall opposite the desk. "Something popped up on our radar last week."

"We're hoping you can help us understand what is going on," Coulson said. He set his pen down and folded his arms over his chest, watching Clint carefully. "We're… unsure of the message that is trying to be relayed."

Clint watched the projector screen go dark before security footage started to play. He didn't recognise the location, but it looked like some kind of underground train station, with a city map covering one of the walls that was visible. The camera was too far away for Clint to be able to read the street names, but he could see a faint circle drawn around a particular road.

A second later a man stumbled onto the screen, one hand held against his throat and the other clutching the handle of a briefcase. It was clear that he was struggling to breathe, and after a moment he simply collapsed to the ground, the briefcase falling open beside him. A station worker rushed over to help, mouth moving silently. A single square of paper had floated out of the briefcase with an image printed on it.

"He's dead," Clint said, squinting to read the station worker's lips. "She's saying he's dead."

"His name is Malikov Vasilievich," Coulson said as Fury paused the tape. "He was poisoned with strychnine."

Clint frowned and glanced at Coulson. "That sucks. What's the big deal?"

"There were also traces of a drug called chlorpromazine in his system," Coulson continued. "Plus an array of other anti-psychotic drugs. He was probably rather drowsy and docile in the lead up to his poisoning."

Clint stared at the man on the screen, suddenly sure that he was missing something. Images of Natasha filled his head; the tiny pinpricks in her inner elbows, her slurred speech, movements slow as she slumped into him after all the times that Ivan pumped her full of drugs. It was eerily similar, and he leant forward in his chair to try and get a better look.

"What's on the paper?" he asked.

Fury zoomed in on the briefcase, and even though it was blurry Clint couldn't mistake the image of Moscow's Red Square. "It's a postcard."

Clint's heart rate spiked, his mind going a million miles a minute as he tried to piece together the information he was receiving. Postcards were the way that they used to receive information about hits, before Chase came along, but it had been a while since they had used that method.

"What did this guy do?" Clint said quickly.

"Human trafficking," Coulson answered. "Predominantly children from Eastern European countries."

"Vasilievich was on our radar," Fury added. "He wasn't important enough to warrant much manpower."

Clint was barely listening now, eyes focused entirely on the image in front of him. The postcard and the drugs and the trafficking all added up to one thing, and he knew that it was a message that was targeted at him.

"The map," Clint said, standing up to move closer to the projector. "I need to see –"

"You understand why we're showing this to you?" Coulson said, joining Clint in the middle of the room.

He nodded jerkily. "Yes. It's gotta be her."

"We only paid attention to it because the assassination seemed familiar," Coulson told him. "No face, no evidence, just a dead body. It fits the Widow's MO."

"He used to drug her, make her compliant," Clint whispered. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "The postcard… It was how we found out about our next hit, before Chase came along."

"What is she trying to tell us, Clint?" Coulson said.

He watched Fury zoom in on the map and tried to make sense of the foreign words he was seeing. Natasha obviously couldn't communicate properly, and was doing whatever she could to discreetly send a message. He knew it was from her, could feel it in his bones. He just had to make sense of the map and hope that they weren't too late.

"It's a cathedral," he said suddenly, and everything clicked into place. "She circled the cathedral, not the street. We have to go to Moscow."

"Are you sure?" Coulson questioned, but Clint was past the point of listening.

"There's a cathedral in the Red Square, right?" he said desperately. "Play me the tape again. I've gotta be missing –"

The tape started, and Clint watched the man die again, trying to find something he hadn't noticed the first time. The map was the same, the man and the station worker were the same, the clock on the wall was the same and the postcard still fell naturally. Fury paused the screen and he checked every inch of the frame, trying to think.

"The clock hands," he breathed, eyes zeroing in on the plain clock on the wall. "They haven't moved."

"How can you see that?" Coulson asked. "Clint –"

"10:24," he said, then spun around to face Fury. "October 24th. We have to go to Moscow on October 24th."

Fury raised an eyebrow, staring Clint down. "Are you sure about this?"

Clint had never been surer of anything in his life. "Trust me. I _know _her. When she can't speak, she can always still tell me what she wants to say."

Fury shrugged and looked around Clint to see what Coulson thought about the whole thing, but Clint couldn't wait. He needed to see Natasha, needed to know why she couldn't just contact him normally like she said she would. He had to find her before the Council did, had to get her back inside S.H.I.E.L.D so they would be safe together like they had promised each other.

He turned and left the room, ignoring Coulson as he called him back. With or without them, he was going to find Natasha. He just hoped that when he found her, she would be okay.


	55. Chapter Fifty Five

5 chapters to go!

* * *

Even though Coulson's expression didn't change, his voice was resigned. "The orders have come from the Council themselves. There's nothing we can do to stop it."

Clint slammed his drawer shut, and then wrenched it open just so he could slam it again. His hands shook and his heart hammered in his chest, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he was spiralling into a full-blown anxiety attack. He fell forward until his forehead hit the wall and took a deep breath.

"I can't do it," he muttered. "You can't make me."

"The Council were already not impressed that Director Fu –"

"Fuck the Council," Clint snapped. He stood straight again and went back to throwing things into his tactical bag. "This wasn't the deal. None of this is fair."

"Unfortunately, we didn't make a deal with the Council," Coulson explained patiently. "Director Fury is lucky to still _be _Director. I almost lost my job again."

"I never asked you to risk any of it," Clint said. "You could've just left us alone and then we'd be fine, Nat would still be with me and I wouldn't have to –"

He couldn't finish the sentence, suddenly feeling hot bile rise in his throat. He pushed his way into the tiny bathroom and fell to the ground over the toilet seconds before he vomited, his hands clenched around the porcelain. He could barely think, his brain stuck on the conversation he'd had with Fury that morning.

While Coulson and Fury had assured Clint that they were on his side and wanted to extract Natasha from whatever situation she was in, the Council had somehow found out about their plan and had immediately called for her termination. The real blow had come later, when he was called to Fury's office; the Council had requested Clint's Strike Team carry out the hit.

Clint had almost yelled at him. It was a sick punishment for disregarding S.H.I.E.L.D's rules, and he wanted nothing more than to march up to the Council and put an arrow through their heads. He couldn't hurt Natasha, couldn't even fathom leading others towards her. His Strike Team had already booked a quinjet to take them to Stockholm that night; the fact that they didn't know where Natasha _really _was was the only thing keeping Clint sane.

He swiped his hand over his mouth, standing and flushing the toilet. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment and forced himself to calm down. He couldn't help Natasha if he was freaking out. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. There wasn't much time before wheels up.

"I need to get to Russia," Clint said to Coulson when he re-entered his room. "I can bring her back myself."

"It's not that simple, Clint," Coulson said carefully. "The Council has directly ordered this. Going against that would result in your termination, too."

"I don't care," Clint snapped. "If that's what happens then it happens. I can't go along with them to Stockholm and then be surprised when we don't find her. I can't _lead_ them to her. You have to understand that."

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Fury and Coulson had promised that Natasha would be okay and now their organisation was hunting her down. It had barely been a week and everything had been turned on its head, and now he didn't know where he stood. He had signed a contract with S.H.I.E.L.D that he would be breaking if he went after her, but if he didn't he might never see her again.

Coulson regarded Clint stoically. "This is out of my hands, Clint."

"Fine," Clint said, making up his mind. "I'm going to Russia. I don't care if you have to send someone after me. I'm gonna find her."

Clint grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder, then headed towards the door. Coulson stepped in front of him to block him, and for a brief second Clint felt like he was a child again, standing in the shadow of his father. He blinked and pushed the thought away, meeting Coulson's glare with his own.

"You can't go to Russia," Coulson said firmly.

Clint didn't want to hurt Coulson, but he figured he could probably take him in a fight if it came down to it. There was nothing he wouldn't do to get Natasha back, to hold her and make sure she was okay.

"Not on your own," Coulson continued. "I'll come with you."

Clint blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The information you gave us doesn't match the information that S.H.I.E.L.D has on the Black Widow," Coulson explained. "The Council thinks they're hunting a deranged murderer. From what I've heard, and what I know of you, I think that we're just looking for a scared, traumatised girl."

Clint swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, not knowing what to say. He had only known Coulson for a few months and the man was already risking his entire life to help him. The force of his kindness left Clint breathless.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So we're going to Russia then?"

"Let me get my field suit," Coulson joked, stepping aside. "Then, we'll go to Russia."

* * *

The apartment in Moscow was run-down and cold, but Clint barely paid it any attention. He sat on the bed, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand, waiting for Coulson to come back with dinner. They had managed to walk out of S.H.I.E.L.D and onto a commercial flight with relative ease, though he knew that if the Council hadn't noticed their disappearance yet, then the Strike Team certainly would have.

The door opened and Coulson walked in, carrying a plastic bag and his gun. Clint didn't really feel like eating much, but appreciated that his handler had made the trek out to get it. This was the first time Clint had ever seen Coulson in the field, and it was a little disconcerting to have him right there instead of behind the comms.

"Thanks," he said, accepting the stroganoff that Coulson handed him. The takeout container burned his palms. "See much out there?"

"Snow," Coulson replied. He pulled out his own container and Clint could immediately smell the rich tang of beetroots that he could only associate with borscht. His stomach clenched and he pushed his own food aside. "You're not hungry?"

"Not really," Clint shook his head. "Guess I'm a little nervous."

"We are breaking quite a few rules," Coulson said. "It's refreshing."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "It's probably the worst idea I've ever had."

"We're not dead yet," Coulson tried to joke, but it didn't make Clint feel any better.

He lay back on the bed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, taking a deep breath. Now that they were actually in Russia, he was realising that he hadn't really thought any of it through. At the time of deciding to come, all Clint had been able to think about was keeping Natasha safe. He needed to get her back to America, although he wasn't sure if S.H.I.E.L.D was their safest option anymore.

He hated that Coulson had been dragged into it. Even though he was glad that he had someone that trusted him to be right, he would never forgive himself if something bad _did _happen to Coulson. His head hurt from thinking about it all, but he was so close to having her back that he couldn't stop.

"Look, Clint," Coulson said, setting his borscht aside. "I believe you. Everything that you've said about Natalia… It's inhumane. The Council sees everything black and white, but we need to show them that it's not the case this time. I think we have a chance of success."

"A chance might not be good enough," Clint muttered. "I can't bring her back and march her into that place and have them kill her, or lock her up and do more experiments. How am I supposed to know what's gonna happen?"

Coulson stared at Clint, hands folded in his lap. "I need you to be honest with me."

"What?" Clint asked hesitantly.

"How much do you really care about her?"

Clint wanted to tell Coulson the truth, but he wasn't quite ready for it yet. "She's my best friend."

He took his stroganoff and forced himself to eat some of it, trying to put an end to the conversation. Coulson watched him critically for a moment before returning to his own dinner, and they spent the rest of the night in silence. He was hours away from Natasha. He just had to wait a little longer.

* * *

"Do you see anything yet?"

Clint squinted through his binoculars, but the Red Square still looked the same as it had seconds ago. They had been watching the area for hours, and now the sun had set and people were beginning to head home. His hands began to shake from a mixture of fear and cold, because she was supposed to be here, she had left a clue for him and he was sure that he had been right about it.

"Nothing," he muttered. Coulson was a few blocks down, keeping an eye on another cathedral. "I don't get it."

"Maybe she can't leave," Coulson said through the earpiece. "We need to rendezvous back at the hotel and work out our next plan of attack. It won't be long until S.H.I.E.L.D is on our trail."

Maybe he had just gotten it all wrong. They hadn't had any communication from Natasha in months, and when he really thought it through it didn't make sense for her to suddenly pop up out of nowhere. They had to have missed something, or maybe they were just too late and she was gone again. The whole mission had been thrown together so quickly that he hadn't once stopped to think they might fail.

"Okay," Clint agreed. He refolded his bow and picked up his bag, scanning the streets one more time. "I'll see you in –"

He trailed off as he caught a glimpse of something stumbling into an alleyway. He frowned and tried to shake the image from his head, but he had been sure that he had seen a girl and it didn't make sense. Hope soared in his heart and he tried to push it down as he started to run towards the alley, dodging the stray tourist here and there.

Coulson said something but Clint ignored it. He unfolded his bow at the beginning of the alley, pulling an arrow out of his bag and carefully readying his aim. It was dark, but a streetlamp behind him cast just enough light for him to be able to see the figure that was curled up on the wet ground.

"Natasha?" he breathed.

Something flew at him and he ducked a second too late, feeling the object slice across his cheek. He hissed at the pain but lunged forward anyway, arrow drawn and pointed squarely at the chest of the person who had thrown the knife. His breath left him in a rush and he lowered his bow, immediately dropping to his knees and reaching out.

Natasha flinched, weak arms flailing as she tried to fight him off. Her eyes were glassy and her lips blue, but Clint didn't notice any of it straight away; all he cared about was that he could touch her and she was here, where she had said she would be. They were together again.

"Hey, hey," Clint murmured softly, catching her wrists gently to stop her struggling. He ducked into her line of sight, waiting until he could detect a hint of recognition in her eyes. "Hey, Tasha. I got your message."

"Clint," she mumbled. Her voice was thick, and it was then that he noticed she was only wearing a short dress and nothing else. "Here."

"Yea, I'm here," he assured her. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, fingers brushing over her frozen skin. "We're gonna go, okay? I'm gonna take you home."

Clint pulled her up and frowned at how light she felt leaning against him. Her hair was tangled in a bun on top of her head, and she was bleeding from puncture marks in her elbow. It was just like before, when they were kids. His head swam with images he fought to suppress.

"Barton, do you copy?" Coulson said, and Clint finally remembered the earpiece he was wearing. He reached up to hold it more firmly in place, glancing both ways down the street before he started to drag Natasha along with him.

"I copy," he panted. "I've got her. We're heading back. She's gonna need help."

"Okay," Coulson said, voice firm and unwavering. "Roger that."

"'M fine," Natasha moaned. "Lemme go."

Clint's stomach dropped as he listened to her. It was all too similar to the past, so he wrapped his arm more tightly around her and picked up the pace a little. He needed to get her warm and dry, and see if they could work out what she had been drugged with.

"This is becoming a bad habit," Clint said to her, trying to keep her focused on him. "You gotta start wearing real clothes when it's cold."

"_Nyet_," she said. "M-Madame is…"

"Shhh," he soothed her. They would have time to get into the details later. Right now, all he wanted was to get her inside. "Almost there."

They finally reached the hotel, and Clint didn't even bother knocking before he burst through the door to their room. Coulson had his gun aimed but lowered it when he saw them, forehead immediately creasing with worry as he noticed the girl that Clint was supporting and the cut on his cheek.

"What happened?" Coulson asked, and the sound of his voice made Natasha flinch. She lashed out at him, using the last of her remaining strength to punch him square in the jaw. Then, she fell to a heap on the ground, too weak to stand.

"It's okay," Clint murmured. He helped her up again and moved her across the room to his bed, laying her carefully down on top of the covers. He took his jacket off first before moving on to her saturated dress, talking quietly to her the whole time. "It's just me, Tasha. Gonna get you dry and warm in no time, okay?"

Natasha's glassy eyes were still settled on Coulson, but she made a small sign with her hand, a simple _okay_ that told him enough. He had already forgotten that Coulson was in the room, and silently cursed himself for using his nickname for her.

Clint quickly re-covered her with one of his spare thermal shirts and a jumper, then pulled socks onto her feet and bundled her up in blankets. He slipped in beside her, wrapping her small frame in his arms and holding her close, feeling his breath shake in the space between them. His cheek stung but it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

She was back. He had gotten her back. He couldn't quite believe it.

"Warm," Natasha whispered. "You here."

"I'm here," he told her. "We're gonna go home, okay?"

"Hmm," she hummed, pressing herself closer to him. "Miss you. I am _bad_."

"You're not bad," Clint replied. "You're hypothermic. We're gonna have all the time in the world to talk about it tomorrow. But now you gotta rest."

"You trust him," she stated. "Is okay?"

"Go to sleep, Nat," Clint murmured. Her eyes were already closed, but she was clearly fighting it. He stroked his hand over her back and then closed his fingers around her wrist, feeling the weight literally leave her body.

He swallowed thickly and stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. He had her back but she wasn't okay, and he still didn't know what had happened, or why she was so sick. Anything could have happened in the last six months; there wasn't even any evidence that Natasha and Yelena had succeeded in bringing down the Red Room.

"Sit rep?" Coulson said gently, breaking into Clint's train of thoughts.

Clint glanced over at the other agent and saw that he had a tissue shoved up his nose to catch the blood from Natasha's blow. "She's hypothermic, but it's not the first time it's happened. I think it's actually better this time."

"It's not the first time," Coulson said incredulously. "Do I even want to know?"

"Not now," Clint said. "I can't believe… I can't believe I was actually right."

He didn't think about how _lucky _he had been, because he didn't want to question it. He didn't want to think that there could be something else going on, that the whole thing could have been a trap to get them together again. The Red Room would have to kill him to get their best asset back, and luring him to Russia would be the easiest way to do it.

"She doesn't look well," Coulson said. "She looked vacant."

"Drugs, I think," Clint said. "Don't know what, but this is what it used to be like when we were kids. She would be here and not here at the same time."

Coulson regarded them, and Clint realised that this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen the two of them, especially together. They were a force to be reckoned with in the field, but they had their weaknesses, too, even if they liked to hide them.

"We'll leave as soon as possible," Coulson told him. "I don't want to sit here with a target on our head for any longer than we need to."

"She'll be groggy in the morning, but she can put on a pretty good act," Clint smiled. It was the first time he had smiled in days. "Thank you, Coulson."

Coulson shrugged and sat on his own bed, kicking his boots off. "I'm confident we can make this work. Convincing the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D may be a little more difficult."

"I don't care," Clint said. "This is all I care about."

"You called her something else," Coulson started casually, flicking the lamp off. Clint could just see him lying down in the dark, though he knew that he wouldn't sleep that night. "Do you mind me asking why?"

"She doesn't like Natalia," Clint admitted after a moment. He needed to learn how to be more open with Coulson, especially after all the help he had given him. "Ivan used it against her, turned it into something else. We call her Natasha."

Coulson was quiet for a moment, and Clint let his eyes finally close. Natasha was already warm against his side, her hair tickling his chin. She twitched slightly and he knew they were in for a long, sleepless night, but for now it didn't matter.

"I hope she'll let me call her Natasha one day," Coulson said eventually.

Clint smiled to himself. If everything went to plan, he was sure that she would.


	56. Chapter Fifty Six

i love my disaster children sm

* * *

It didn't take long for Clint to realise that Natasha was worse than she had ever been before. He had thought that he had found in her time, but he had no idea how long she had been out in the cold before that and as the minutes ticked by slowly her body slowly became overcome with tremors. He could feel how tightly she was holding herself, her shoulders tense even as she slept.

"Shhh," he soothed her, watching as her forehead crumpled. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but he hadn't been able to sleep for long before Natasha had started tossing and turning. "S'okay, Nat."

Coulson glanced over at them, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone. Clint had never seen him look so worried before; the first time Natasha had lashed out in her sleep, Coulson had almost jumped out of his bed trying to find the threat. They hadn't spoken much, though Clint was sure that his handler wanted to know as much as he could so that he could relay it to Fury. Apparently the Director was sending their extraction, though they had been warned that their arrival home might not be so welcoming.

Natasha's eyes fluttered open, still glazed and red-rimmed even though it had been a couple of hours now. She sat up abruptly a second later, gaze flickering around the room wildly as she tried to ground herself.

"Easy," Clint said softly, sitting up beside her. The blanket pooled at their waists and he sighed as he felt the chill from the air. No wonder Natasha wasn't warming up.

"Where?" Natasha croaked. "I don't… I don't _know_."

It wasn't the first time Clint had had to explain to her what was going on, and it was beginning to make anxiety creep up the back of his throat. It had been so long since Natasha was hurt like this that he had forgotten just how bad it could be. He had no idea what had happened to her in Russia but could imagine that it hadn't been particularly nice.

"We're in Moscow waiting for extraction," he reminded her. "Me, you, and Coulson."

Natasha's eyes followed his pointed finger, though she couldn't quite look at Coulson. "How?"

"We came to find you. Six months, remember? Those were the terms."

Clint watched as Natasha frowned, dropping her head into her hands. He wanted to reach out and rub her back but from past experience he knew it would be a bad idea. He kept his hand out anyway, palm up in case she wanted to make the first move.

Coulson's phone pinged on his lap, and the sound made Natasha jerk away from his side of the room. She shuddered and shook her head sharply, nails now digging desperately into her thighs. Clint could tell that she was seconds away from pure panic, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to bring her out of it this time.

"It's okay, Nat," Clint reassured her. "C'mon and lie down with me. It's warm. We're gonna be going home soon."

"I'm so tired," she moaned. "I don't understand."

"Can I touch you?" Clint asked carefully. He knew that her interactions over the past six months would have been far from positive, and that extended to touch too. He could already tell from the visible bruises on her skin that people hadn't been kind to her.

"_Nyet_," Natasha hissed. "Don't –"

Clint didn't hear the second time Coulson's phone made a noise, but he did see the second Natasha decided to run. He lunged for her as she jumped from the bed, eyes wild and expression frozen in fear, and then the two of them were crashing to the ground between the beds in a heap of limbs.

"Shhh," Clint said immediately, pulling Natasha into him even though it had been against her wishes. "Tasha, it's okay. Take a breath, you're alright."

Natasha thrashed in his arms, though she was still too weak to do any real damage. Coulson had hidden his phone and looked absolutely mortified at Natasha's reaction, but thankfully remained calm and didn't say anything else that might spook her further.

"Bad," she gasped. "Bad, _bad_."

"No," Clint said firmly. "You're not bad, Natasha."

"Is fire," Natasha said. "I light fire in hospital. They _die_."

Clint's heart felt like it would jump out of his chest. "Who?"

"Everyone," Natasha sobbed, then smacked her hand against her cheek. "Bad, is bad."

"We don't hurt ourselves," Clint said, but his voice sounded far away. He held her wrist as she struggled and tried to make sense of what she was saying. "Tasha, please. You're safe now."

"Take it out," Natasha whimpered. "I don't… I don't want to remember."

She slumped into him, exhausted and burning up even though her lips were still tinged with blue. He didn't hesitate to pull her up and move her over to the bed, and by the time he had her tucked under the covers again she was asleep. He crawled in beside her, ready to fall asleep himself and compartmentalise what had just happened until he had the time to deal with it in the morning.

"You weren't joking when you said it was bad," Coulson said.

Clint had almost forgotten he was there. He rolled over so he could see his handler and shrugged. "Do you think S.H.I.E.L.D will be able to help her?"

"I certainly think we can try," Coulson replied. "I've never seen trauma like this."

"There's a first for everything," Clint muttered wryly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Coulson asked suddenly.

Clint frowned. "Why?"

"You're dealing with a lot of heavy emotions here, Clint," Coulson said carefully. "Natalia's pain can affect you negatively, too."

"I'm fine," Clint said, ignoring the feelings of panic and sadness that tried to pull him under. He could deal with it later. "We should get some sleep while we can."

Clint could just see Coulson's thin smile in the dim lighting. "Okay. Good night, Agent."

* * *

Natasha was feverish but thankfully lucid when they boarded the Quinjet the next day. She sat warily across from Coulson and Maria, who had apparently volunteered herself to be part of the extraction team. Clint sat beside Natasha, first aid kit in hand so he could finally patch up some of the small wounds that hadn't quite healed yet.

They still didn't really know what had happened for the last half of the year. Natasha had slept soundly for the rest of the night, waking with a high temperature and not much recollection of the night before. Clint had coaxed her into eating his leftover stroganoff and then the three of them had made the trek to the extraction point in silence. It was tense, but he figured it could always be worse.

"You're a _child_," Maria said once they were safely in the air. She raised an eyebrow, giving Natasha a not-so-subtle once over. "You killed five of our agents."

"They should leave me alone," Natasha said thickly. "Then I not kill them."

Maria snorted. "I only believe you because I believe him."

Coulson was strapped in across from them, though Clint could tell he was itching to join whoever was piloting the aircraft. He needed Natasha to at least give an indication about whether or not she had been successful in bringing down the Red Room, but Clint was hesitant to push her too far.

"You gonna let me look at that?" Clint asked, changing the subject.

Natasha glanced down at her arm and shrugged. "You are doctor. You fix."

"One band aid coming right up," he said. He plucked the plastic from the first aid kit and gently wiped down the puncture wounds with an alcohol wipe before he applied it. "You know what this was?"

"Same as always," Natasha answered. "Is big holes. Missing things. Is so hard to hold onto you."

"You did it though," Clint smiled. "You can't forget this face, right?"

Natasha's hands twitched on her lap. _Yelena helped me_.

Clint understood that she wasn't ready to admit Yelena's existence to Coulson yet, so he simply nodded and smiled again. It surprised him that he felt relief at knowing that the younger girl _had _been with Natasha at some point, even if it was only briefly.

"Natalia, I need to know if you were successful," Coulson started carefully. "Your honesty and cooperation is all being taken into account here. It will help your case when we arrive back at S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint started to check the rest of Natasha's arms for wounds, trying to give her something else to focus on so she wouldn't fall in a heap if she did decide to talk. There was an array of bruises in various stages of healing, and a few burns marks that were bordering on infection. He frowned, trying to imagine what had happened.

"_Da_," Natasha said eventually, keeping her gaze solely on Coulson's face. "Red Room is gone for long time. Academy is ruin. I try to find trainers, to know what is happening. I kill them."

"How many?" Maria cut in. She had a tablet in her lap like Coulson, and Clint was surprised to realise that they were both taking notes. "Trainers, I mean."

Natasha huffed, brow furrowing. It was clear by the look on her face that she was struggling with something, so Clint tried to recapture her attention and changed the subject.

"They let me keep Lucky, you know?"

"Stupid dog," Natasha snorted, then frowned. "Chase?"

Clint swallowed. "He's in a wheelchair. He likes it, actually. Likes having security and a shower that works."

It almost felt like they were the only two on the Quinjet. Clint knew that if it were just him then she would have told him everything already, but for now baby-steps would have to do. She didn't seem too affected by the news of Chase's paralysis; if anything, she almost looked relieved to hear that he was okay.

"Twenty-two," Natasha said. "I kill them. Madame I don't know, but…"

"She did this, right?" Clint said softly, tapping the band aid.

Natasha nodded. "She uses word I don't… Everything…"

"It's okay," Coulson said. "You don't have to tell us that part right now."

Clint knew that she was struggling both physically and mentally. She leant heavily against him on the hard bench, and he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She needed a real doctor, though he wasn't sure she would ever allow it.

"Then I find them," Natasha said softly. "In hospital. So many girls."

Coulson glanced at Clint, remembering the moment from the night before when Natasha had started talking about a hospital. He had thought it had just been another hallucination, or a past trauma that had cropped up in the heat of the moment. Clint reached for her hand, sensing that she was about to tell them something that could change everything.

"Drakov is trainer," Natasha continued slowly. "He defect. But they take his daughter and he tell me where to find her."

"So you didn't kill this trainer?" Maria asked. "Just to be clear. This guy Drakov is still alive?"

"_Da_," Natasha said. She frowned, and then pulled her hand away from him so she could sign. _I can't think properly. Does this make sense?_

_Yea_, Clint replied. _It makes sense._

_I don't feel well, _she admitted after a moment. _Everything is a mess. _

_It's okay, Nat,_ Clint said. _We don't have to talk about it all right now._

_I want to be done with it_, she said. _I don't want to be afraid anymore. I just want to do good. _

_Coulson will help_, he assured her. _S.H.I.E.L.D will help. It'll be hard but… I think they can de-program the triggers. _

_Please_, Natasha signed, eyes closed as though she were praying. _I'll try anything._

Clint smiled and glanced at Coulson, hoping he would understand what he was trying to convey. He hadn't expected Natasha to come around so easily to the idea of accepting help, but now she was actually asking for it herself.

"Drakov?" Maria pushed, ignoring the pointed look Coulson threw her. "Do we need to be worried about this guy?"

Natasha shook her head. "Daughter is in hospital. I go and find new Red Room. Girls in beds, _chained _to beds. Sick girls, but some already… already have started programming. Drakov tell me so I end it."

"Did you?" Coulson asked softly.

"_Da_," Natasha murmured, just loud enough that Clint could hear the pain in her voice. "I light fire. I end it."

A heavy silence descended upon them as the gravity of Natasha's words hit them. Clint sighed, trying to imagine the inner turmoil she would have experienced before making that decision. It wasn't fair.

"Thirty-six girls," Natasha continued. "Is so much smoke but they don't scream. Madame find me there and say word… I don't know what happens next."

"That's really good, Natalia," Coulson praised. "We can work out a rough timeline for you, to find out what you were doing in the time that you don't quite remember."

"I want it gone," Natasha said, voice suddenly fierce. She sat forward and levelled Coulson with a glare. "I work for you if you take it away. No words, no triggers, no _holes_. I am not scared little girl anymore. I want control of life."

"We have some of the best psychologists and doctors in the world working for us," Coulson told her. "We can help you. I promise."

"Coulson, that's…" Maria started to say, and then changed her mind at the look on his face. "It won't be easy."

"I have worse," Natasha said defiantly, lifting her chin. "I have worse for whole life. Is time for good."

She fell back against him, covering her mouth as her body was wracked with deep, wet coughs. Clint placed the back of his hand over Natasha's forehead and frowned, rummaging through the first aid kit for a thermometer. She slapped his hand away, so he grabbed her bicep instead to steady as her as they passed through some turbulence.

"What's that?" he muttered, feeling something hard under his hand. He rubbed at her skin, not far from where he had removed the tracker from her arm years ago. "Shit, Nat."

Natasha blinked. "I don't…"

"It's okay," Clint said quickly. "It's fine. You got a knife, Hill?"

"I'm not giving her a knife," Maria snapped. "I don't care how much Coulson trusts her."

Clint rolled his eyes and fished around inside of the first aid kit until he came across a tiny scalpel. It wasn't ideal, but he didn't really have the time to argue with Maria and Coulson hadn't offered to help yet either.

"They didn't mess around," Clint mused as he rubbed an alcohol wipe over her skin. He ripped the scalpel out of it's sterile packing and held it above the hard bump. "You good?"

"Hang on a minute," Maria said, standing up.

"Clint, you need to explain what's going on here," Coulson said sternly. "This is a team and everyone needs to be on the same page."

"Sorry," Clint said, taken aback. He pointed at the piece of skin he had pinched between his fingers. "It's a tracking device. We need to take it out."

Maria made another noise of protest but Clint didn't pay her any attention, instead beginning the incision and squeezing the small object out into Natasha's waiting palm. He wiped the small wound with another alcohol swab and then stuck a band aid down over the top of it. It was over in seconds, and Natasha hadn't even flinched.

She dropped the tracker to the floor and stamped on it until it was completely crushed. Then she let out a deep breath that didn't sound as easy as it should have been, and Clint remembered the thermometer.

"Have you done that before?" Maria asked. She picked up the pieces from the ground and stuck them in a little bag, tucking it away in her jacket pocket.

"Once," Clint replied, thinking back to the night in the hotel. It had been much more difficult back then. "Apparently they all have one."

Coulson stood and moved into the front of the jet to sit with the pilot, an agent named Melinda May whom Clint had heard a few rumours about. Even though Maria was a little annoying, it was nice to have the company of someone he knew, if only to show Natasha that people were actually friendly.

"Jesus, Barton," Maria muttered. "When you said it was bad…"

"You talk about me?" Natasha murmured. She tilted her head, looking up at Clint through her lashes. She was teasing him; he laughed and elbowed her gently as the thermometer beeped.

"All bad things, Romanova," he joked. "Huh. 102. You're gonna need a real doctor."

Natasha frowned. "_Nyet_. Is your job."

"Drink this." Maria handed a water bottle to Clint, and then rolled her eyes at the look on Natasha's face. "It's not poisoned."

Clint unscrewed the cap and took a sip anyway, knowing that Natasha wouldn't be convinced by Maria's word alone. He held it to her lips until she begrudgingly took it from him and drank. By the time she had finished the bottle Coulson had returned, carrying what looked like a lunch box and a set of handcuffs.

"I have sandwiches," he offered. "Unfortunately, we _will_ need to restrain Natalia upon landing."

"Okay," she agreed. "But I want pickle on sandwich."

Coulson stared at her. "They're pre-made."

_Does that mean no pickles? _Natasha signed.

Clint couldn't help but laugh. "She'll take peanut butter, if you have it."

Coulson passed them each a peanut butter sandwich, then took his seat across from them again and started talking to Maria about what they should expect when they landed. Clint knew that they should probably be listening to them, but he was more focused on getting Natasha to actually eat something. Her fever made him nervous, even though she wasn't acting that far out of the ordinary.

_Not long now_, Clint signed. _I think you'll like S.H.I.E.L.D. _

_I don't know if they'll like me_, Natasha replied slowly. _It's a fresh start though. A chance to wipe my ledger clean._

_There's so much we need to talk about_, he said. _Like the clue you left me. How did you do it?_

Natasha shrugged. _Madame had done something to me, I think. She was controlling everything, but she also had a lot of information, and I knew I needed to see you. I couldn't remember why, but Yelena told me it was important._

_Where is Yelena? _Clint asked, almost afraid of the answer.

_She helped me light the fire. She came back with Madame too, but when I escaped… I lost her. I don't really know where she is._

Natasha coughed again, and then rested her head heavily on his shoulder. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her onto his lap and joke around with her, reassure her that everything would be okay. He couldn't do it though; he couldn't risk giving Coulson and Maria leverage over them, even if he was sure they would never use it for harm.

_We'll find her_, he assured her. _It might take a while, but we will. _

_You said we would be normal_, Natasha signed. _I want that. _

_So do I, _Clint replied. _I missed you. God, Tasha. I really missed you._

_I'm back now_, she smiled, though it didn't cover the pain and exhaustion on her face. _We have time now._

_Yea_, Clint agreed. _You know I love you, right?_

Clint didn't know if Coulson or Maria knew ASL, but in that moment it didn't matter. He had been dying to say it to Natasha ever since he had found her in the snow, and now seemed like as good a time as any. She was back, and they were together. The next chapter of their lives was about to open right in front of them.

_Of course birdbrain_, Natasha said. _I love you, too._


	57. Chapter Fifty Seven

hey guys! not long to go now! and our babies are back together :) i hope you're all staying safe and healthy during this scary time, i'm sending all my love to anyone struggling atm!

let me know what you think of this chapter! hope you enjoy x

* * *

**November**

Clint didn't see Natasha for two weeks. He supposed it was some kind of sick punishment for breaking so many rules, but Coulson had assured him that the order hadn't come from Fury. As far as Clint knew, the Director hadn't even met Natasha yet, except for the few short seconds between her disembarking the jet and being whisked off to medical.

They had been met by S.H.I.E.L.D's top agents and more guns than Clint could count, and even though the air had been buzzing with tension Natasha had held her hands up in the universal sign of peace and marched right past them all. By the time they had landed she had been even more sluggish and sick, but Clint wouldn't have been able to tell if it weren't for her sweaty hairline.

They had taken her straight to medical and Clint had managed to follow for most of the way, until he was ripped away right as she went into the examination room. He had seen the brief flash of fear on her face, the way her cuffed hands had clenched before her expression smoothed into a blank mask. His own interrogation hadn't lasted long; most of the yelling had been directed at Coulson, and the pair of them had been temporarily suspended.

Still, it had been a long two weeks, and Clint was frustrated that Maria was his only source of reliable information. Even Coulson had stopped visiting, and Clint couldn't help but blame himself for everything that had gone wrong.

"Stop thinking so hard," Maria said, sitting down heavily beside him. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Ha ha," Clint muttered. "You got any news?"

Maria shrugged. "If it weren't for her grand entrance no one would know she was here. They're keeping it all on a need-to-know basis."

"I need to know," Clint snapped, and then ran his hand over his face. He was tired. It had been a long two weeks. "Sorry. I hate being left out."

"It's fine," Maria said softly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "She means a lot to you."

"She's my best friend," Clint said thickly. "I don't want her to think that S.H.I.E.L.D is just like the Red Room. I just want it to be normal."

"It'll take a while to be normal," Maria said. "C'mon, we should go down to the range. You can take out your frustrations on another dummy."

Clint sighed but stood, gathering up his sweat towel and water bottle before he followed Maria out of the gym. He was met with the same hostile stares, insults that he couldn't hear thrown at his back as he walked. Ever since Natasha had been brought in the other agents had been angrier at him; the one good thing about her not being around was that they couldn't direct their hatred towards her, at least.

"Ignore them," Maria said out of habit as they headed down the hallway.

"I can't hear them half the time, Hill," Clint replied dryly. "Perks of having busted ears, right?"

Maria opened her mouth to say something when there was suddenly a blare of sirens over the PA system. Maria immediately reached for her gun, and Clint spun around to watch as agents began to swarm out of the gym. He didn't know what was happening and could barely think past the ringing alarms; his fingers twitched towards his aids, but before he could turn them off he noticed that the agents had stopped and pulled out their own guns.

Clint took a breath and tried to focus on the announcement. It was too hard to understand, but everyone in the hallway seemed frozen, and Clint knew that whatever had stopped them was somewhere behind him and Maria. He turned back around slowly, not wanting to spook any of the agents and get himself accidentally shot.

Natasha was standing behind Maria, hair wet and curling at the ends, her small fame engulfed in a S.H.I.E.L.D issue sweatshirt. She was watching him carefully, though occasionally her eyes strayed over his shoulder to focus on the agents behind him. She looked tired and pale but he didn't care, because she was standing in front of him and he could _finally _see her.

"Hands on your head," Maria barked, breaking Clint's concentration. He frowned and went to step forward when she stuck an arm out to stop him. "I said hands on your head, _now_."

Natasha blinked, and then carefully raised her arms above her head. Maria lowered her gun and reached for the comms device attached to her belt, raising it to her mouth so she could speak without being overheard. A second later the alarm stopped blaring and Clint let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"Hey," he said carefully.

Natasha's lips twitched. "Hi."

"Get on your fucking knees," a man suddenly yelled, his voice booming in the narrow hallway. He pushed past Clint, keeping his gun levelled at Natasha's head. "Do you understand me? Get on your knees."

"Agent Rumlow," Maria warned. "I can handle this."

"On your knees, Widow," Rumlow sneered, ignoring Maria and stalking right up to Natasha. He glared down at her and pressed his gun against her temple, clicking the safety off. "Or do I need to say it slowly?"

Clint clenched his fists and fought the urge to tackle Agent Rumlow then and there. The man had made it clear over the last six months that he didn't like Clint, but it was evident now that he hated Natasha even more. He was obviously trying to assert himself, and even though Clint didn't quite understand the intricacies of S.H.I.E.L.D's hierarchy, he was sure that Maria held more power.

Natasha's face fell, her lower lip jutting out as though she were about to cry. Clint could see right through her mask and knew that she was planning something, but the air between them all was too tense for him to feel game enough to step in. He reminded himself that Natasha could look after herself, even with a gun literally pointed at her head.

"Pathetic," Rumlow sneered, and started laughing when Natasha flinched. "Get on your knees, little girl."

Natasha met Clint's gaze for a split second before she abruptly knocked Rumlow's hand away, dropping to slide beneath his legs as he automatically fired the gun. She popped up behind him, spun herself into the air and hooked her legs around his neck; in the next second, Rumlow was flipped on his back and Natasha was kicking the gun away, hands back above her head.

There was an outcry from the other agents, but then Coulson burst into the hallway and the noise died down. He took one look at the scene before him and shook his head slowly in disbelief, looking to Maria for answers.

"Rumlow was throwing his weight around, sir," she said. "Miss Romanova was simply standing up for herself."

"Right," Coulson drawled. "That doesn't explain how she got here."

"I am bored," Natasha shrugged, and the sound of her voice sent a shiver up Clint's spine. He _missed_ her.

Coulson looked tired. "Barton and Widow with me. The rest of you can get back to work. I'll deal with Rumlow later."

The other agents dispersed, and Clint wasted no time in stepping over Rumlow to reach Natasha. She lowered her arms and smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many things he wanted to ask her. A part of him thought that they would never have the time to just be together on their own again.

"Bored, huh?" he asked instead.

"_Da_," she replied simply. "Is same most days."

"That's not an excuse to run away," Coulson said sternly, gesturing for them to follow him down the hallway. "There are people here who will not hesitate to shoot you."

"You try sit in room and listen to same thing all days," Natasha said. "I do not see Clint. Is not part of deal."

"Natalia, we've spoken about this," Coulson said. "We had to wait for your cold to pass before we could begin any real deprogramming."

"You got a cold?" Clint said, brushing his fingers subtly over hers.

"She had a fever that took four days to go down," Maria scoffed, and then shot Clint an apologetic look. "I didn't want to worry you."

Clint had known about the fever on the quinjet, but he hadn't realised just how sick Natasha had been. He couldn't blame Maria though; knowing S.H.I.E.L.D, she would have been under strict orders to not tell him anything at all, so he was lucky to get the little that he did.

"Is just cold," Natasha said, rolling her eyes. "Is not first time."

Clint smiled softly, remembering the sniffles she had caught after the first time she had been close to hypothermia. It hadn't been that bad though, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he thought about all of the 'not-the-first-time' moments they had had over the years.

As if he knew what Clint was thinking, Coulson frowned at them. "You say that more often than not."

"Are you sleeping?" Clint changed the subject, not missing the way her shoulders tensed slightly.

"Is not the same," she said cryptically. "They do not know."

"Oh," Clint said. He glanced at Coulson, sure that the agent wouldn't care about Natasha's secret, but decided against saying anything. "Your hair's wet."

"I escape after shower," Natasha replied. "No one is looking."

"You knocked out all five of your guards," Coulson said dryly. "They weren't looking because they were unconscious."

"Least she didn't kill them," Maria muttered. "That would've been harder to explain to Fury."

Clint realised with a start that they were standing outside of the Director's office, and a brief flash of fear had his heart rate increasing. It wouldn't be that bad, because Coulson and Maria were kind of joking around and Natasha hadn't actually hurt anyone badly enough to need medical attention, so it was probably just mandatory. He breathed in deeply and reminded himself that they were safe at S.H.I.E.L.D so long as Coulson was with them.

"Thanks Hill," Coulson said to the other woman, and she left them with a small wave. He knocked on the door and then pushed it open without waiting for an answer, gesturing for them to go inside. "After you."

The office had only changed slightly from the last time Clint had been in there. This time there were three chairs on the other side of the desk, as though Fury had been expecting Natasha to pull something like this. He regarded her carefully, for once not predatory like all of the other men who looked at her.

"If it isn't the incy wincy spider herself," Fury said by way of greeting. "I heard a rumour that some of my best agents had become tangled in your web."

Natasha raised her chin. "Everyone is in way."

"You know, it takes a certain type of person to escape a heavily guarded bathroom," Fury continued. "Please, take a seat."

Coulson sat, and Clint only sat beside him because he was giving him a look that told him he should. Natasha hovered behind her chair, and Clint could recognise that she hadn't fully convinced herself it was safe to sit. He laid his arm on the armrest, palm facing up as a sign of security.

"I'm going to assume you disappeared for a reason," Fury said. He appeared unbothered by Natasha's reluctance to take a seat and instead turned to acknowledge Coulson. "Did you condone this?"

"No, sir," Coulson replied smoothly. "Natalia acted of her own accord."

"I do again," Natasha said fiercely. "If I am locked up all time, I keep disappearing."

"You have not been a part of this organisation long enough to be telling me what you can and can't do," Fury said. It was the first time Clint had detected even a hint of frustration in his tone, and it made him sit up straighter, waiting to see what would happen next. "I'm the Director, Widow, and you'll do well to remember who you answer to."

Natasha flinched, though this time it wasn't an act. She looked ready to run but her whole body had frozen, and Clint could see the second she completely shut down. He couldn't be sure she was even in the room with them anymore, her gaze flickering down to focus on her feet.

"_Izvinite_," she muttered. "_Ya zabyl svoye mesto_."

"Natasha," Clint warned. "Sit down."

Natasha sat in the chair beside him automatically, shoulders tense and nails digging into the palms of her hands. It had been a while since Clint had seen her absent in the way that she was now; he figured that the last six months were still fresh in her mind, and something as small as an authority figure raising their voice would be enough to make her regress.

"You wanna tell me where you are?" Clint asked softly.

Natasha grit her teeth. "I know. I _know_. Is _stupid_."

"Where are we?" Clint pushed. He could see her hands twitching and tried to refocus her attention. "C'mon. Tell me where we are."

"S.H.I.E.L.D," Natasha ground out. "I not kill her. _Could not_ kill her. She is right there and I –"

She reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking it roughly. Clint automatically reached out to stop her and she met him halfway, gripping his hand tightly in her own. He couldn't quite read the expression on her face but still clung to her, not wanting to let go.

"Clint?" Coulson said carefully. "Does she need a moment?"

"I need you to take away," Natasha snapped. "I need gone. All things they put in, things that make me _weak_. I not kill her because she say one word. Madame… she do this and is _stupid_."

"You are not weak, Romanova," Fury said. He leant forward and caught Natasha's gaze, holding it steadily. "You knocked out five agents today. You just had some fucked up things happen to your head. I shouldn't have raised my voice."

"You say you fix," Natasha muttered. "No one fix yet."

"We're going to help you," Coulson said carefully. "But it will take time, Natalia."

Natasha clenched her jaw and let go of Clint's hand to rub at her temples instead. Clint leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a second, trying to think around the mess of thoughts swirling through his mind. His day had really turned on its head and he kind of wanted to go and fight someone until he felt calmer.

"You need to cooperate," Fury continued. "You can't beat the shit out of everyone, for starters. The Council wanted you dead. Don't give them a reason to come for you."

"If you need anything you _can_ ask for it," Coulson said. "I'll do my best to get you what you need. The next few months are going to be hard, and we appreciate your patience."

"I need…" Natasha began, and then huffed in frustration. Clint knew it would be hard for her to verbalise exactly what she needed, but he was happy that she was at least trying. "I need sleep. And to see Clint. Is hard to rest."

"I have a proposition," Coulson said suddenly. "What if Clint and Natalia stayed with me over the weekend? We rest, we recover, and then we come in on Monday and get started with it all?"

Clint glanced at Fury, not wanting to get his hopes up but desperately wanting to spend time with Natasha. A weekend away from S.H.I.E.L.D was just what he needed, and he knew that it would help Natasha more than she would let on. There was so much they needed to talk about, and at least he could trust Coulson not to listen in on their conversations.

"You comfortable having two reckless teens in your apartment?" Fury asked incredulously.

Coulson shrugged. "It's just one weekend."

Fury scoffed and shook his head, then leant back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Hell, you're right. It's just one weekend."

* * *

Coulson's apartment was nice, if not slightly impersonal, though Clint thought that the agent may have pre-planned this and hidden the majority of his possessions. The three of them had eaten homemade spaghetti at the dining room table, and whilst it hadn't been uncomfortable it _had _been slightly tense. Coulson had made up the spare room for Natasha and the pull-out couch for Clint, and they had all left to their respective rooms relatively early without saying much else.

It came as no surprise to Clint that Natasha ended up leaving her room. He watched her in the dark, waiting to see what she would do, but it soon became clear that she simply wanted him to follow her. They tiptoed past Coulson's room and into the spare one, crawling under the covers and facing each other in silence for a moment.

Natasha reached up to touch his cheek. "Hi."

"Hey," he replied. "I missed you."

"I miss you most," Natasha grinned. "You tell me lots."

"Yea, cause its true," Clint said. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his chest, feeling her belly move against his as she laughed. "I wanna hear about everything, but not tonight. We can talk about it some other time."

"Okay," she agreed easily. "I want to kiss you."

"I kinda wanna kiss you too," Clint replied, and before he could move her lips were on his and he felt like the world had started spinning again. He tangled his hand in her hair and held her as tight as he could, not wanting the kiss to end, just wanting to stay like that with her forever.

"I love you," Clint told her, peppering kisses across her cheek and down her neck. "Tasha, _I love you_."

"I love you too," she whispered back. She let her head fall against his chest and sighed, her eyes closing and her body going slack in seconds. "You are my happy."

Clint grabbed her wrist and held it carefully, watching her face completely relax. He would forever love the way that Natasha just fell asleep on him without worrying about what was happening around her. She trusted him enough to keep her safe, and he didn't think there would ever be a greater feeling in the world.

He didn't know how they would explain themselves to Coulson in the morning. He didn't even know how the rest of the weekend would pan out, but he found himself not caring in the slightest. He had Natasha back, and they were going to heal and live together, just like they had promised each other.

For the first time in months, Clint closed his eyes and slept.


	58. Chapter Fifty Eight

hey guys! we are so close to the end omg this is just something a lil cute bc i feel like it lol

thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews and support! there's only 2 chapters to go and i hope you all enjoy them, i'll save the sappy comment for the last chapter but im so thankful to have shared this fic with you all ❤️

enjoy xx

* * *

When Clint opened his eyes the next morning, Natasha was already awake and watching him. The world was quiet, and everything felt soft and safe beneath the covers. She reached out and brushed her thumb across his cheek, then carded her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, running her nails over his skin.

He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling for a moment. It still felt fake; he still felt like he would wake up at any second and Natasha would be gone and he would be on his own again. He couldn't believe it was real, that she was lying beside him warm and alive. The last six months felt like a lifetime ago.

"Morning," he said eventually, cracking his eyes open before he fell asleep again.

Natasha grinned at him. "Morning sleepy."

Clint stretched out, exposing his toes to the cool air of the room. He didn't know what time it was or if Coulson had figured out where he was yet, but he didn't care. He rolled over and found his hearing aids on the bedside table, pushing them onto his ears before shuffling back to Natasha. He wanted to spend the whole day in bed with her, like they used to when they didn't have a hit to worry about.

"How you sleep?" Natasha asked. Her voice was husky with sleep and he wanted to bottle the sound of it.

"The best I have in months," he said honestly. "How about you?"

"Good," she answered. "You always… is always good with you."

Clint leant forward until their foreheads were touching. "I'm so happy to have you back, Tash."

"Was long time," Natasha whispered, frowning. "I don't know all that happened. Madame… she let me kill them."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked. Itwasn't exactly the conversation he wanted to be having with her right after waking up, but it was important that they did while she could still remember it properly.

"I light fire and Madame wait for me after," Natasha said. "How? How she know?"

"Someone told her?" Clint mused.

"Maybe is Drakov," Natasha said slowly. "I think I see him. After, when I am in room on own. _My _own."

"How long were you on your own for?" Clint said.

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Madame hurt me. Is training. But then she start to take away, and Yelena make me remember. She sneak in and hit me. Sometimes she yell."

Clint let out a breath. "I owe Yelena one."

"I don't know where she is," Natasha murmured, closing her eyes. "She help me get message to you. She kill that man. And then… and then she disappears. What if –"

"Don't blame yourself," Clint told her. "God Tasha, you're just a kid. Do _not_ blame yourself."

Natasha opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze for a moment before she leant in and kissed him. It was slow and sweet, as though they were getting to know each other all over again. She pressed her hand against his bare chest, over his heart, and deepened the kiss until his head was swimming.

"Hi," she breathed against his lips. "I want to do -"

"For a long time," Clint finished for her. He brushed some of her hair out of her face and smiled. "Me too."

"I think we stay here," Natasha laughed. "In bed. Here. I don't know."

"Sounds good to me," Clint agreed, and brushed his hands down Natasha's side until she was giggling again, her face flushed with happiness. He kissed the laughter from her lips and rolled her on top of him, forgetting about everything except the feel of her and him, together.

* * *

It was sometime around lunch when Coulson finally knocked on the bedroom door. Clint blinked blearily, half-dozing with Natasha's head on his chest, but she hadn't stirred at the sound. He knew she was beyond exhausted, her body still weak after fighting whatever had caused her fever. It didn't help that she hadn't been sleeping for the last two weeks, either.

"Come in," he called, not really sure if Coulson had asked anything through the door. He didn't care about keeping up appearances anymore; if Coulson was going to be their handler, then they should be truthful with him. Clint wanted to trust him with this.

Coulson stepped into the room, dressed casually and not at all surprised to see Natasha half-draped over Clint's body. Despite his job description and all of the pressure he was surely under, Coulson was a pretty calm guy. Clint liked that about him; when they weren't working, it felt just like having a friend.

"Just checking you didn't run away in the middle of the night," Coulson said.

Clint smiled. "You waited a while to check."

"I have faith," Coulson shrugged. "I also have alarms on the windows."

"Bold of you to assume we couldn't avoid them," Clint smarted, then conceded. "Nah, Tasha couldn't sleep. She struggles on her own sometimes."

"She never told us," Coulson said. "We could have worked something out."

"She wouldn't," Clint said. "It's hard for her to ask for help."

"Well, I made lunch," Coulson said, and Clint remembered that he _was_ actually still in bed and Coulson was hovering awkwardly by the door. "And I found a deck of cards, if you still remember how to play spit."

"I still remember how to _beat _you," Clint laughed. "Just… give me a minute?"

Coulson nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Clint carefully disentangled himself from Natasha, pressing a pillow into her arms when she inevitably reached for him again. She muttered something and frowned, so he stroked her hair until her face relaxed again and he was sure she was asleep.

Natasha was wearing his hoodie now, so he shrugged back into his shirt and tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. He knew it wouldn't be long before she woke up anyway, but he wanted to give her as much rest as possible.

Coulson hadn't been joking when he said he had made lunch, though it looked a lot more like breakfast. Clint loaded his plate with pancakes and sausage and hash browns, then made his way into the living room where Coulson was waiting with the cards. The bed had been re-folded into a couch, and Clint's duffel bag was stacked neatly against the wall. He almost felt guilty about not sleeping where he was supposed to until he remembered what it had felt like to wake up beside Natasha again.

"I'm not trying to be the bad guy here," Coulson said as he shuffled the cards. "But we do have rules on fraternisation between agents."

"Who said anything was going on between us?" Clint asked, shoving a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

Coulson gave him a look. "Apart from the obvious -"

"Two friends having a sleepover," Clint interrupted. "We've been having sleepovers since we were like, nine."

"Barton," Coulson sighed. "This is me giving you a heads up."

"Right," Clint relented. "Do you care?"

Clint respected Coulson's opinion, and even though it wouldn't change the way he felt about Natasha, he _would _like to have the agent's approval. He didn't want to have to hide now that they were safe with S.H.I.E.L.D. He just wanted to be normal.

"No," Coulson answered eventually, handing Clint his cards. "I don't. Anyone could tell that you care about each other."

"It's been hard to… get to where we are," Clint admitted. He pushed some of the eggs around on his plate and shrugged. "You know, between the brainwashing and triggers."

Coulson frowned. "How long have you been together?"

"We only technically dated for a little while before she was taken back to Russia," Clint said. He felt a little weird talking to Coulson about it, but figured it wouldn't hurt to let his handler know. "We were like, fifteen or something. Then it took a while after she got back but… you know. We work through it."

Clint set his empty plate aside and picked up his cards. Despite the awkwardness, it felt good to talk to Coulson about this kind of stuff, and he was glad that he didn't have to hide anything from him anymore. He never _wanted _to hide anything, but sometimes it was just easier.

"Ready to get your ass beat, old man?" Clint teased, changing the subject.

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "Three, two, one, spit!"

Clint lost track of time as they played game after game, each round becoming more intense until cards were flying everywhere. Coulson was good, but Clint was a lot quicker now than he had been last time, and for the most part they were evenly matched. It was only when Coulson glanced over his shoulder that Clint remembered he had left Natasha in the bedroom.

He turned around to see Natasha standing by the kitchen counter and smiled reassuringly at her. She still looked pale and tired, but also refreshed in a way that she hadn't been for months. Her lips quirked into an almost smile, eyes flitting between his face and the cards he was holding.

"Good morning, Natalia," Coulson said, even though it was definitely past lunch time now. "How did you sleep?"

"Is afternoon," Natasha frowned. "I sleep for long time."

"You were tired," Clint commented. "Plus I'm cosy."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You are warm."

"I'll take that," Clint said.

"There's lunch in the kitchen," Coulson told her. "Technically breakfast food, but if you don't want any of that you can help yourself to the fridge."

Clint didn't hesitate to set his cards down and hoist himself off the couch, wandering into the kitchen to get Natasha a plate of food. He knew it would be too much for her; waking up alone in a foreign place, being given a choice that she wasn't sure she was really allowed to make. She struggled enough as it was when it was just the two of them, and Coulson being an authority figure would only make her suspicious.

He gave her a little of everything, even if he knew what food would be her favourite. She accepted the plate from him and followed him back to the living room, hovering at the couch beside him. There was an armchair she could sit in, but she seemed to be waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

"Foods good," Clint told her, and pointed out the armchair. "I'm probably gonna have seconds. Coulson can _cook_."

"I'm a grown man, Clint," Coulson said. "Don't be so surprised."

Natasha made her way over to the armchair, her small body swimming in Clint's hoodie. She sat carefully and balanced the plate on her lap, inspecting the food that Clint had picked for her. She had a hesitant bite of pancake, and then met Clint's gaze with wide eyes.

"S'called a pancake," he told her. "You got syrup on it?"

Natasha nodded. "Is good. You really make?"

"Yes," Coulson answered, though he sounded much more patient than he had with Clint. "It's a very simple recipe. I could show you one day, if you like."

"_Da_. I would like it," she replied. "We only make noodles and toast."

"My mum used to make chocolate chip cookies," Clint said. He could almost taste them if he thought about it for long enough. "They were the best. Nat used to go crazy for them."

"You tell me story?" Natasha asked. She was eating with a lot more enthusiasm now, and Clint considered it a victory even if she couldn't quite remember his mother's cookies.

"Only if you finish it," he said. "My mum used to make cookies. And when I first met you, it was cause…"

"I take," Natasha said, and smiled softly. "Break into house and take cookie. They smell good."

"Nat likes pickles, too," Clint said, screwing his nose up. "It's disgusting."

"You are disgusting," Natasha retorted. "What you are doing?"

Clint suddenly remembered that they had been halfway through a game of spit. He held the cards up for Natasha to see, and then him and Coulson finished off their game whilst she kept eating. By the end of it she had subconsciously moved closer, sitting on the ground beside them and watching with calculating eyes.

"Would you like a turn?" Coulson asked. "I can teach you how to play."

"What is for?" Natasha asked. "What is point?"

"It's for fun," Clint answered. "Remember I told you about how Coulson taught me? I think you would get it in no time."

"I want to see Chase," Natasha said suddenly, abruptly changing the subject. She looked at Coulson fiercely, eyes flashing with frustration. "I want to make sure he is okay. I want to see dumb dog before they start to fix."

"We can arrange that," Coulson replied smoothly. "Chase has been asking about you. Besides, you will have some introductory meetings with the doctors and psychologists before we start any real deprogramming."

Natasha clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath. Clint wasn't sure why she was so upset, but he let her work through whatever was happening in her head on her own time. There was a lot going on, and even he was beginning to feel a little apprehensive about the whole process. He reminded himself that it was a good idea in the long run, even if it didn't seem like it right now.

"Okay," Natasha agreed after a moment. "_Da_, I would like to learn."

Coulson barely blinked at Natasha's turnaround of emotions. He re-shuffled the cards and started to explain to her how the game worked, and even though her body remained tense Clint could tell she was enjoying it. He took her plate to the kitchen and washed it, not wanting to leave a mess for Coulson when he had so graciously let them stay with him. Then, he snagged another sausage from the fridge and settled in to watch their game.

Natasha was competitive, and it didn't take long for her to beat Coulson over and over again. They talked about silly things; everything from different dog breeds to random world monuments, until it was closer to dinner than it was to lunch and they hadn't really moved. Clint and Natasha hadn't even changed, and after a silent discussion they decided to take a shower while Coulson caught up on his emails.

Clint stayed inside the bathroom while she showered, and even though they didn't say much he didn't think they needed to. She smiled at him through the glass door and he smiled back, content in the bubble they had created. Sometimes, words were pointless anyway.

* * *

Later that night they sat in the spare bedroom, having said another early goodnight to Coulson after he cooked them fried rice for dinner. Clint had honestly never tasted better rice in his life, and that was saying something since they had lived off Chinese for months in Brooklyn.

Clint pulled the Harry Potter books out of his duffel bag and let Natasha inspect the covers. He had decided to bring their old things to Coulson's in the hope that it would help comfort Natasha, not that she really needed it at the moment. She had bet the both of them at spit so many times that Coulson had taught her five more card games just to have some variety.

"I need to read again," she said softly, skimming over the blurb. "I like these books."

"I think there's more now, too," Clint said. "Maybe we can go out tomorrow and see if we can find them."

Natasha handed them back to him and flopped down onto her back, red hair fanning out in a halo around her head. "I like that."

Clint set the bag aside, pulling Yulia out at the last second for her. She hadn't seen the doll since they had picked up their stuff from Iowa, and before that it had been years. The doll's eyes weren't as vibrant as they once were, but it looked almost exactly the same as it did when they had first bought it.

Natasha's face softened just slightly. "Oh."

She took Yulia from him and inspected every inch of her, then simply held her out in front of her face and stared. Clint laid down beside her and pulled the covers around them, tucking them in against her side. He gave her a moment to think, watching the way her eyes shone in the dim light.

"I like this doll," Natasha whispered eventually.

"Yea, I like her too," Clint said. "You know, maybe it's not so bad that Yulia is like Yelena now."

Natasha huffed a laugh and then crushed the doll against her chest, turning to face him in the bed. "Do you care if she stay in bed?"

"Nope," Clint replied. "Just like old times, right?"

"I think once that she make me feel safe," Natasha said to him. "But now I know was you. If I had doll, I had you. So I am okay."

Clint swallowed past the lump in his throat. "When I didn't have you, I had the doll. So it kinda worked the same for me too."

Natasha smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. "Today was fun."

"Coulson's a good guy," Clint agreed. "I'm glad we get to work with him."

"Everything will change," Natasha said. "One day, everything will be different."

"It's not so bad though, right?" Clint asked. He reached out and held Natasha's wrist as her eyelids began to droop. "We got friends again."

"_Sem'ya_," Natasha mumbled. "We are family."

Clint beamed and pulled her in closer, feeling her arm tighten minutely around the doll. Everything would be different, but Natasha was right: they had something of a family now, and they were going to be okay.


	59. Chapter Fifty Nine

guys, this is the second last chapter :( im gonna save my sappy post for the last one, but just know i love ya'll!

i hope you like this chapter. we're almost done

enjoy x

* * *

Maria whistled as Natasha scaled another wall, watching as she landed softly on the other side and proceeded to unlock the window she needed to squeeze through. "She's fast."

Clint wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned. "Course she is. This is, like, a walk in the park for her."

The obstacle course was apparently something that new recruits undertook months into their training, but Natasha had already aced all of S.H.I.E.L.D's basic fitness tests. Clint had ran the course before her, vaulting over solid brick walls and breaking into the boobytrapped house to retrieve the fake intel in less than 10 minutes; Natasha was definitely going to beat him, but he was basking in breaking the record until then.

"How did psych go yesterday?" Maria asked. "I heard she almost killed someone."

"She _injured _him," Clint corrected. "He shouldn't have just jumped straight into the heavy stuff. You gotta go slow."

Natasha had spent the night in a psych cell instead of in her usual room, despite Clint's protests. All he knew was that the psychiatrist had said _something_ that had made her wrap her hands around his neck, and Clint had only been called to calm her down when she woke up from being sedated. He had hated every minute of it; the look on her face when he had been forced to leave her for the night had broken his heart.

Now, Natasha was taking most of her anger out on the obstacle course. They had strapped monitors to her temples and chest, though Clint didn't exactly know what they were looking for. It had only been one week since Fury had given the okay for her to start deprogramming, and so far they had been off to a rocky start.

"Yea, well, scuttlebutt has it that she cut his heart out," Maria said, then slapped his arm when he laughed. "I'm serious Barton. Some of the other agents think she ripped him open."

Clint frowned. "She doesn't actually do that. S'too hard to clean up the blood."

"Unbelievable," Maria muttered. "How did I get stuck babysitting the two of you?"

"Pretty sure you volunteered," Clint reminded her. "Coulson probably had something to do with it, too."

The buzzer sounded and Natasha appeared at the door, waiting to be let out of the course. Coulson shook his head at his stopwatch before letting her through, offering her a bottle of water that she immediately passed off to Clint. She looked like she had barely broken a sweat, though her hair was coming loose at her temples.

Clint opened the bottle and took a sip before handing it back to her. Natasha didn't say anything, but he could feel the energy radiating off her body. Agent Lane was in charge of her physicals and so far Clint found no reason to dislike the woman. She peered at the stopwatch over Coulson's shoulder and beamed.

"That's a new record, Natalia," Agent Lane said. "Can I take those off your head now?"

Natasha nodded stiffly and let Agent Lane peel the sticky spots off her temples and chest. "How long?"

"Four minutes, sixteen seconds," Agent Lane told her. "You want to see on the stopwatch?"

Another thing that Clint liked about Agent Lane was that she showed Natasha everything, both before she did anything and after. She was working on gaining the younger's girls trust, and so far she had been the only agent that had managed to last a full week. Coulson was trying his best to find people that Natasha would be comfortable working with, but not everyone was entirely comfortable working with her, either.

"It was nice while it lasted," Clint muttered, though he didn't really mind being beaten by Natasha. "What's next on the schedule?"

"Agent Lane is taking measurements," Natasha recited. "If I am good I go fight."

Natasha frowned and looked down, clenching her fists. No one said anything for a minute, giving her the time to settle herself. Clint had noticed that the few therapy sessions she had attended were dredging up old habits and thoughts, and it hurt him to know that she was struggling against the beliefs that had been forced on her.

"You get to fight no matter what, hun," Agent Lane said cheerfully. "Don't forget that you can call me Dom, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said. "Where I go?"

"Just over here and we'll pop you on the scale," Dom said, leading Natasha to the other end of the room. "This is going to be on your official record, considering we had a little hiccup the first time."

Clint stayed back with Coulson, giving Natasha a little privacy. "Who exactly is she gonna be sparring?"

"No one's game enough," Maria snorted. "Except for the idiots that want to try and prove a point."

"There are a few senior agents who agreed to spar with Natalia," Coulson answered, ignoring Maria's comment. "It will be a very controlled environment."

"It's her birthday next week," Clint said. "She's gonna be eighteen."

"I'm sure we can get her a cake," Coulson said. "It's a big day, after all."

There was a muffled bang, and Clint looked up in time to watch Natasha swing her arm back and punch the wall again. He made a move to step forward but Dom bet him to it, gently holding her hand out to Natasha without actually touching her.

"Is stupid," Natasha growled, her voice startingly loud in the small observation room.

"It's not stupid at all," Dom reassured her. "This is a starting point, Natalia. You have been undernourished for years."

"But is not fair and s_tupid_," Natasha protested. She flexed the hand that had punched the wall and Clint noticed the brief flash of pain across her face.

"None of what happened to you is fair," Dom said carefully. "But it won't take long for us to get you healthy again. Punching walls isn't going to fix it."

Natasha glared at her. "It make me feel better."

"Well then we need to find something else for you to take your frustrations out on."

Clint thought that Natasha might argue some more, but she simply clenched her jaw and nodded. Dom grinned and let her lead the way out of the observation room, away from the obstacle course and back into the main gym. There were a handful of agents working through drills but for once no one paid them much attention.

"Agent Lane, a minute please?" Coulson asked, and the two of them stepped away out of earshot. Clint could probably read their lips if he tried hard enough.

"I've got a debrief," Maria said to him. She turned to Natasha and grimaced. "Don't kill anyone today."

"No promise," Natasha replied, and Maria rolled her eyes and left the two of them alone.

They slid down the wall and sat with their shoulders pressed together. Natasha stretched her legs out in front of her, her eyes flitting between everyone in the room. Clint was itching to know what Coulson was talking to Dom about but tried to ignore them. It probably wasn't any of his business.

"Maria does not like me," Natasha said.

Clint frowned. "I think she does."

"_Nyet_," Natasha disagreed. "If this was Red Room, she would stab me."

"What?" Clint said incredulously. "Is this your way of telling me you _stabbed _kids you didn't like?"

"_Nyet_," Natasha moaned, rolling her eyes. "I not stab anyone unless they make me. But Maria has… has feeling of someone who stabs."

"Oh my god," Clint laughed. "I don't think she's gonna stab you, Nat."

_Whatever_, Natasha signed. _Do you think I'm doing okay?_

_I think you're doing as well as can be expected_, Clint answered. _You gotta remember the psych evals will probably not feel very helpful at the beginning._

_Nothing feels helpful,_ Natasha admitted. _I feel like… like I don't have control. But it's different to what Madame did to me. It's just… anger. And confusion._

Clint shrugged one shoulder. _You've had a lot of repressed emotions. Everything's gotta come out at some point, right?_

_I just don't want to mess this up, _Natasha signed carefully. _But sometimes I'm so scared I just want to run_.

_You like Dom, right? _Clint asked. _I know she's not your shrink but you'll still be seeing her most days. It might not be so bad to talk to her sometimes too. She seems genuine._

_I like her more than the others_, Natasha replied. _They touch me without asking. Start talking about things without asking. I can want that, right?_

_Of course you can. You can want people to respect your boundaries, Nat. They should just do it anyway. _

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Dom asked, crouching down beside them. Everything she did was to make Natasha comfortable and it just made Clint respect her more. "I think it's great that you can use ASL to communicate, by the way."

Natasha's face remained blank. "I want to fight now."

"Okay," Dom agreed easily. "I'd like you to have a stretch beforehand, though. And you need to meet the agents you're sparring, too."

"Can I spar with Nat?" Clint asked hopefully, glancing at Coulson. "Please? At the end?"

"I kick your butt," Natasha teased, her eyes brighter than they had been in days. "Has been so long. Last time is in Brooklyn."

"I'm sure that will be fine," Dom said, and stood straight again. "Let's go stretch, Natalia. I want to double check that hand, too."

Natasha stood to follow Dom into the centre of the gym, leaving Coulson and Clint alone again. A small crowd was beginning to gather at the edge of the sparring mat, but Dom was keeping Natasha focused on touching her toes. Clint stood and accepted a granola bar from Coulson, tearing it open and taking a huge bite.

"What _were _you talking about?" Coulson asked, without taking his eyes off the pair in the middle of the gym.

"You know," Clint said. "World domination. The usual."

Natasha caught his gaze over her shoulder and smiled just a little, but there was a wild glint in her eyes. Clint grinned back. He couldn't wait to see what she could do.

* * *

"No, no, wait. Tell me again. You did _what_?"

Natasha huffed. "I maybe break out of bathroom."

"You definitely broke out of a bathroom," Clint said. "No maybes about it, Tash. Your hair was still wet."

Natasha stuck her tongue out at Clint, then rolled herself carefully back over to Chase's table. "_Mudak_. You try and sit in room for all days by self."

"I did," Clint deadpanned. "For like, a whole month."

"Cry me a river," Chase teased. "Little Red doesn't cope like you do. No offence, Nat."

"Is okay," Natasha said. "You like this chair?"

"Better than being dead, that's for sure," Chase commented. "Plus, I can actually go pretty fast now."

Coulson had finally given them the okay to visit Chase, and whilst Natasha had been hesitant at first, Chase had been over the moon. He had wrapped his arms around Natasha's midsection and spun his wheelchair around in circles, knocking her off her feet and effectively acting as though he was lifting her in the air.

Clint had thought she would hate it, but when Chase had finally put her down her cheeks had been flushed and she was smiling the first real smile Clint had seen in a long time. She had even let Lucky jump all over her, and as soon as Chase had settled at one of the dining room tables she had sat herself down in his wheelchair and done laps of the empty cafeteria.

"Is cool," Natasha said. "Has lots of space for guns."

"You could even strap a quiver on the back," Clint said. "Hey, I should see how fast I can push you down the hallway."

"I suggested that too but Quinn wasn't keen on the idea," Chase said. At the look on Clint's face he just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. She's coming around to the whole idea, and I bet she'll be excited to re-meet the two of you."

"What does Quinn look like?" Natasha asked.

"Short, cute, British," Chase listed.

Clint snorted. "You can't _look _British."

"Oh, we get cookie," Natasha said. "I do know."

She came to a stop besides Clint and pulled herself out of the wheelchair, instead choosing to sit on his lap. It was just the three of them, like it had been for months in Brooklyn; it almost felt like they were home, even though they had never really had a home together to begin with.

Clint wrapped his arms around Natasha and let her lean back against him, tucking her head under his chin. She wasn't afraid in front of Chase, and the only person who would walk in on them would be Coulson when he inevitably had to send Natasha back to her room. For now though it was nice to be soft and quiet. Clint pressed a kiss to Natasha's cheek, feeling her fingers ghost over his knuckles.

"You know I actually missed you assholes," Chase said. "I mean the two of you, together. You're like one half each of the same person and when you're together it's alright again."

"You are old," Natasha said. "You go silly."

"I'm not that old!" Chase protested as Clint fought to contain his laughter. "I'll take it back if you're gonna be like this."

"Please," Natasha drawled, and Clint could practically hear her rolls her eyes. "I miss you too. I am… happy, you are okay."

"Yea, well," Chase shrugged. "If it weren't for you guys and your creepy little assassin friend -"

"Yelena stayed at hospital too," Natasha said softly. "She did not understand why we are upset, but she stay. And then we go back together."

Chase looked sad. "A lot's changed since the last time we sat down and had a chat, huh?"

Natasha pressed her face a little harder against Clint's chest, and he automatically started rocking them slightly. Her sparring session had been long, and they hadn't had much time to rest between that and coming to visit Chase. Natasha's body was still adjusting to all of the changes happening around her and was easy to tire now.

Clint had thoroughly enjoyed watching Natasha beat every single agent they threw at her. Fury had been watching too, assessing her skills personally to see what clearance level she would be given once her deprogramming was complete. It had been brutal and even a little dirty towards the end, when some of the other agents had had enough of being humiliated, but Natasha had still won every round.

He had been called up against her at the end, and for the most part they had been evenly matched. Clint knew that if she hadn't been as tired as she was, she would have kicked his butt in seconds; it had taken a little longer, but had still ended the same way it had for everyone else, with him on his back and her with an arm around his throat. None of the others would have seen her smile, though.

"You can't go to sleep on me, Red," Chase teased, reaching out to poke Natasha's thigh. "We have too much to catch up on."

"I'm not," Natasha mumbled. "Is called rest."

"Right," Chase chuckled. "You rest then, Nat. We have time."

Lucky thumped his tail against the couch, watching them all with big, brown eyes. Natasha started to tell Chase about her new record on the obstacle course and Clint let it all fade into the background. He was just happy to hold her. Everything else could come later.


	60. Chapter Sixty

i honestly never thought that i would ever finish this. it started as an idea way back in 2015, and it took me another 4 years to actually write and post it. i've never stuck to a project like i have this one, and i think it's because i just fell in love with these babies. i'm sad to see them go, for now, but i'm grateful that they're a part of my life.

i wanna thank every single person who left a review on this fic. it truly kept me going on the days when writing was the last thing i wanted to do. there are not enough words to thank you for your support. i took this story overseas with me and let it push me beyond what i thought i was capable of doing. what started out as a small idea i thought i would give up on has turned into 160k+ words and 60 chapters. it blows my mind

there is going to be a sequel to this fic! i'm going to probably take a couple of weeks off before i start writing it, but keep your eyes peeled! i hope you enjoy this final chapter (i tired to tie it into the first one, and another part of the fic - kudos if you get it!)

this is me signing off on the days were bright red. part of the journey is the end, and i love you 3000 ❤️

* * *

If there was one thing the circus had taught Clint, it was that not everything was what it seemed.

He didn't remember much about his life under the Big Top, but he remembered enough. The smell of sawdust and his mother's smile on the good days and playing G.I. Joe with Barney. The weight of his first bow in his hands, and the weight of his father's secrets. All of the moments that led to a gravel road and a house with a porch and a life that Clint had never expected.

He had learnt to see things differently, to assume nothing until he had all the answers. Sometimes something came along that was exactly what Clint _would_ expect, but mostly, there was always something else, an edge to things that most people missed.

Which is why he had become friends with Natasha in the first place. Why he had learnt all of the scary, dark things she kept close to her chest and why he had fought so hard to help her. Why he had fallen in love with her, over and over again, and followed her across the globe just to be with her. Why he had risked it all for a second chance at life, together.

"What you are thinking?" Natasha asked. "You looking serious."

Clint blinked and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Just stuff. About how we got here."

"Walked," Natasha joked. Her lips quirked slightly at the corner and she tilted her head at him. "You okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine," he answered. "We're on time, right?"

"_Da_," Natasha said. "Why? You in hurry to go somewhere?"

"I don't wanna be sitting around all day waiting for a shrink on your birthday," Clint moaned. "There are better things we could be doing."

"Like?" Natasha prodded. She twisted her fingers together on her lap, nails digging into the back of her hands. Even if she wouldn't admit it, she was nervous to meet her new therapist, especially because Coulson seemed to think that this would be the one that finally worked.

"Like opening your presents or, I don't know, going to the range," Clint listed. "We can see if Coulson will smuggle some pizza in and we can eat it in bed."

"Presents?" Natasha asked hopefully.

"My lips are sealed," Clint said. She turned her glare on him but he just ignored her, poking her shoulder. "Hey, you would _never _tell me what presents you were getting me. That's kinda the point of a birthday."

Natasha huffed. Clint knew that she didn't like to be kept in the dark about things, but he was just too excited about her gifts to give it away prematurely. He was saved by her arguing when the door swung open and the new therapist stuck her head out, grinning at them broadly.

"You must be Natalia," she said excitedly. One of the agents assigned to Natasha stood to intercept them but the therapist waved them off. "You can wait out here. I only need to see Natalia and Clint today."

Clint frowned. "I'm not supposed to be coming in."

"My office, my rules," the lady smirked and gestured for them to enter. "Don't be shy!"

Clint hesitantly followed Natasha into the therapist's office, taking in the plush sofas and bright cushions. There was a heavy blanket draped over the back of one of the couches, and the woman's desk was pushed right back to the wall with the chair sandwiched between them. He could see the marks on the carpet from where the furniture had previously been.

"Take a seat," the woman said as she shut the door behind her. When neither of them moved she simply rolled her eyes playfully and took a seat herself, folding her legs beneath her in the armchair. "I'm Georgia. I'm very happy to meet you."

Clint felt awkward standing by the door, so he carefully took a seat on the sofa opposite Georgia. According to Coulson, Natasha was supposed to be attending therapy on her own. Clint was only going to wait for her to finish so he could try and sneak her to the shooting range afterwards. He wanted her birthday to be fun, even if they were stuck at S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I'm Clint," he said, just to fill the silence. He couldn't help but think back to all of his own therapy sessions with Miss Breslow, and how hard she had tried to make sure he was okay. He really appreciated the effort she had made for him, even if he had never shown it at the time.

"Nice to meet you, Clint," Georgia said. "In the interest of this being an honest space, I obviously already know who you are, but I'm very excited to get to know you both better."

Natasha was tense, her eyes flicking around the room. Georgia had clearly left all of the exits unblocked, though Clint wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not. The space was vibrant and fresh, dotted with little potted plants and minimalistic artwork. It didn't look like any of the other rooms he had come across in the building before.

"I am Natalia," Natasha said eventually. "I don't understand. Coulson say is on my own."

"If you'd like, I can ask Clint to leave," Georgia smiled. "But I thought that it might make you feel more comfortable to have someone here whom you trust. I also wanted to talk a little about your childhood today."

Natasha frowned but crossed over to sit beside Clint. "He stay."

"Great!" Georgia said. "We're going to go at the pace that you set, Natalia. If you ever feel uncomfortable or pressured then tell me to stop. It's not going to get better overnight, but I'm very confident that we can deprogram all of those terrible triggers, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said softly. "I will try anything."

"I have this, actually. It's going to be very helpful in the future."

Clint watched as Georgia pulled an old notebook out of her own bag. It looked vaguely familiar, and he felt the memory of it prick at the back of his brain. He could remember the feeling of pencil on paper, writing a list that included spoons and Snow White.

"The trigger list," he said, and frowned. "How did you get that?"

Georgia looked sheepish. "I actually asked Coulson if there was anything that could help me get to know the two of you better. He gave me this. He also gave me some photos he developed."

She started rummaging through her bag again, and Clint tried to think back to when Coulson would have had access to his things. All of the bags he had picked up from Brooklyn had been screened when they had arrived back at S.H.I.E.L.D, so maybe Coulson had grabbed the notebook when he had taken the timeline posters.

Georgia passed the photos to Clint but turned her attention to Natasha. "So, you moved to America when you were quite young?"

"I am nine," Natasha replied.

"That must have been quite scary," Georgia prodded. "Especially to move with a man you didn't know."

"I know him," Natasha said. "He is uncle. He take me to Red Room but I live with him and not others. Then we come to America."

"And you know that Ivan was not your real uncle?"

"_Da_," Natasha snapped. "He is fake. Everything is fake."

"Can you tell me something that isn't fake, maybe?" Georgia asked.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Pain and Clint. Is only real things."

Clint glanced at her, then looked back at the photos. He felt the air leave his lungs in a rush as he saw the first picture; it was him and Natasha, shoulders pressed together, feet bare and dirty. They were young, probably ten, and Natasha's hair was a mess of fire around her head. Clint was missing a tooth and they both had a cookie in their hands, and the memory of the day slammed back into him like a freight train.

He flicked through the rest, seeing his life play out before him again; him and Natasha lying side by side on the lawn; the two of them racing up the porch steps; Natasha with a black eye and him with his arm in another cast. It startled him, to see the marks on their bodies, growing in intensity as the two of them did. When he was a kid it hadn't seemed as bad, but the evidence suggested otherwise. There was a picture of Natasha with scabs all over her legs, her smile bright as she unwrapped his Christmas present for her.

"We're going to have a whole new list of real things soon," Georgia promised. "And one day we won't need the trigger list."

"I want it gone," Natasha said. "You will do that?"

"I'm certainly going to try my best," Georgia said. "It will be a team effort, though."

"We have good team," Natasha said fiercely. "Clint is my strong. He always helps."

Clint looked up in time to see something soft settle over Georgia's face. "I'm glad that you have always had someone on your side, Natalia."

"You remember this?" he interrupted, holding out a photo for Natasha to see.

She took it gently from him, holding it in her hands as though it could break. The photo had obviously been taken without either of them knowing about it, because in it they were fast asleep. Natasha was curled against his side, Yulia clutched firmly to her chest, and Clint had turned so that his cheek was pressed against her forehead.

"I think…" Natasha started, then smiled softly. "I think is day you bring me back."

"Yea," Clint agreed. "It's the day you came back."

"Can you tell me about that day?" Georgia asked. "Or, is there another day you'd like to talk about? We can chat about anything. Just remember, though, that we don't need to do anything crazy today. You're not going anywhere, Natalia. We have all the time in the world to talk about the hard stuff."

Natasha nodded and handed the photo back to Clint, her shoulders finally relaxing. He set them aside and leant back against the cushions, trying to focus on the conversation happening in front of him. He couldn't quite shake the image of the little girl with flaming hair and the boy with a crooked smile. Edith had been documenting their life and he hadn't even known it.

He reached for Natasha's hand and she met him halfway, shuffling herself closer to him. Georgia smiled, giving Natasha the time she had promised, and Clint's eyes focused out the window, beyond the skyscrapers and billboards. It was the first time he had seen outside of S.H.I.E.L.D in weeks.

If he squinted hard enough, he swore he could see the gravel road.

* * *

Natasha was whisked away by Dom after her therapy session, so Clint spent his spare hour finalising the touches on her birthday present. She didn't like surprises, so he had at least let her know that they were going to Coulson's for the weekend again. Their handler had been gracious enough to let him throw something of a party, and it surprisingly hadn't taken much to convince Fury to let Natasha out.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Clint asked again.

"Dude, chill. She's never had a birthday party before, right?" At Clint's nod Chase threw his hands up in exasperation. "Then what's the big deal? She's got nothing to go off."

"Asshole," Clint muttered, but there was no anger behind his words. It was simply the truth; Natasha had never had any kind of real birthday before, even though Clint had tried to make them fun when they were younger. "I just want it to be good."

"It's great," Coulson said as he walked through the front door. Lucky lifted his head from his paws but didn't actually move until he saw Natasha enter slowly behind Coulson, her bag clutched tightly in one hand. "Happy Birthday, Natalia."

Natasha absently scratched at Lucky's head as she took in Coulson's kitchen. They hadn't done much, but Coulson had picked up a 'Happy Birthday' banner to hang on the wall and Chase had bought her some flowers. The cake Clint had made sat in the middle of the table, sunken in the middle from when he had taken it out of the oven too soon.

"What is this?" Natasha asked carefully.

"It's your birthday party," Clint said nervously. "It's not that great, I know, but we didn't really have a lot of time and it's kinda hard to leave S.H.I.E.L.D property without a clearance level and did you know that if you take a cake out of the oven early, it'll –"

Natasha cut him off by stepping up to him and throwing her arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as she could. Clint relaxed and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back gently.

"_Ya lyublyu eto_" she whispered in his ear. "_Spasibo_, Clint."

"Happy birthday, Tash," he whispered back, pulling away so he could press a kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna open your presents?"

Natasha bit her lip and nodded, letting Clint take her bag from her and dump it by the counter. Coulson had moved his furniture just enough for Chase to fit in his wheelchair, so the four of them settled in the lounge, Natasha immediately making herself at home on the armchair. He could tell that she was still on edge, as though she were expecting something bad to happen at any second.

"I'm going first," Chase said, reaching into the new pocket that had been attached to his chair. "Think fast!"

Natasha caught the gift easily from the air, and then held it as though she wasn't really sure what to do with it. She fiddled with the wrapping paper, twisting the bow around her finger. Clint felt the familiar pang of sadness in his chest as he watched her, but still smiled when she looked to him for reassurance.

"Open it, Nat," Chase moaned, giving her the push she needed. "I didn't bust my ass finding that for you to just admire the wrapping."

Natasha rolled her eyes and carefully peeled back the sticky tape, taking her time to not rip the paper. Clint was content to just let her take her time, though Chase did look a little annoyed that she was taking so long.

"Oh," she said when she had finally peeled the paper away. "Wow."

Clint peeked at her lap, surprised to see a set of Russian nesting dolls painted in vibrant red. There was a second, small box, and when she pried it open a simple disc fell out, smooth and round. She held it out to him, head tilted in confusion.

"It's this new thing we're working on," Chase said excitedly. "It's a disc that discharges electricity. You just gotta flick it at whoever's coming towards you and they'll drop like flies."

"Cool," Natasha murmured.

"Unfortunately I _will _need to confiscate that," Coulson said warily. "Only until you are cleared, Natalia. But until then it can sit alongside my gift."

Coulson's gift wasn't wrapped, and Natasha's face lit up as soon as he pulled it out. It was a new gun, though Clint didn't really know what type it was. He didn't care about the specifics. The look on Natasha's face was more than enough, even though she pouted when she had to give it back.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I do not… expect. I never have birthday like this."

Clint smiled and pulled out his own gifts. "I have a couple more, if you're interested."

"Give to me," Natasha said, stretching her arms out to him. "I want to see."

She was just as careful with his wrapping paper, even though he had done a terrible job. The first gift she pulled out was a music box, with a ballerina that spun when she opened the lid. He had seen it in a store on one of his outings with Coulson, back when she was in Russia, and he hadn't been able to get it out of his mind. Everything about the box had reminded him of Natasha. The expression on her face told him it was the right decision to make.

Her second gift was the complete box set of Harry Potter, including a signed copy of the Deathly Hallows that he had had to pay Maria to line up for him to get. She actually gasped when she saw them, and Clint knew that he would never get tired of that look on her face. She smiled at him, not saying anything, but he didn't think she needed to.

"Can we have food now?" Chase asked, breaking the silence. "I'm starving."

Coulson shrugged one shoulder. "It's Natalia's birthday, so it's her choice."

"What is for dinner?" she asked.

"I tried making pelmeni and borscht," Clint said, wincing. "It mostly worked? We can get takeout instead if you want."

"I like pelmeni," Natasha said. "I think I want that."

The pelmeni and borscht wasn't so bad after all, and they watched the sun set through Coulson's living room window. Natasha's cheeks turned pink when they sang 'Happy Birthday' and she even nibbled on a piece of cake where it was edible. The apartment was bright and lively, and Clint hadn't felt this content for a long time. It felt as though they were right where they should be.

"I have one more gift for you, Natalia," Coulson said as they were getting ready to go to bed. Chase was by the door, waiting to be driven back to S.H.I.E.L.D, and Natasha's head had been falling against Clint's shoulder for the last half hour. She perked up at the mention of a gift though, narrowing her eyes instinctively at Coulson.

"You call me Natasha," she said decisively, cutting him off before he could speak again. "Natasha is for friends. I do not want to be Natalia anymore."

Clint squeezed her fingers reassuringly, watching the micro expressions cross Coulson's face. He eventually settled on a warm smile, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small, rectangular object.

"I'm very glad you told me that," Coulson said. "It's perfect timing, really."

He passed the object to Natasha and she flipped it open to reveal her face, stuck on a S.H.I.E.L.D issue ID much like Clint's was. It had her name and a blank space left for a clearance level, but it was still an official badge that showed she was a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Clint read over her shoulder. "Natasha Romanoff."

"Romanoff is boy name," Natasha snorted.

Coulson simply shrugged, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Let's just call it hiding in plain sight. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D, Agent Romanoff."

* * *

Clint crawled into bed beside Natasha, laughing as she immediately draped herself across his chest. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and the skin of her back was smooth beneath his hand. She kissed the corner of his mouth, smiling at him lazily.

"You have a good birthday?" he asked her.

"The best," she replied. "You know I am lucky to have you."

"I think I'm luckier to have you," he argued. "We've done alright, Nat."

"We are doing good," she whispered. "Is all I ever want."

"I know. It's all I ever wanted too."

They lay in silence for a minute, Natasha drawing patterns on his chest with her fingers and him enjoying the feeling of her breath against his neck. It was quiet and soft in Coulson's apartment, and it would still be at least another hour before their handler returned. It was nice to be trusted with the freedom, even if it was only temporary.

"Clint," Natasha said eventually.

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"I love you," she said, then tilted her head so she could look into his eyes. "I love you. When we are kids I love you too. For being my friend. You are my strong and my happy and my love."

"I love you too, Tasha," Clint murmured. "No matter what. You'll always be my best friend."

Natasha leaned in to kiss him, deepening it until they were lost in each other, moving together as one. Clint knew he would remember this, just like he remembered his childhood; this moment, and all the moments to come, burning themselves in his soul like fire.

What he remembered the most when he thought about his childhood was this: the days long and hot and bright red, Natasha's small body beside him; the ache in his bones, the weight of knowing that everything could change in a second.

If he could go back and talk to that boy, he would tell him that it would be okay, eventually. That there would be hard times and good times and times when he just wanted everything to stop. That there would be times when he would laugh and cry and scream, and that at the end of it all, _despite_ it all, he would still have her by his side.

He would tell him that they would be together. And they would be okay.


End file.
